


And I Will Sing a Lullaby

by godtiermeme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-10-13 19:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: Few people know of them. The gods of ages past, the rulers of the eight essential forces of the world, are little more than outdated drivel, rejected by most mainstream inhabitants of an increasingly industrializing world. After all, they haven't helped in thousands of years. Where they once walked among men, they are now little more than whispers of an ancient, lost set of ideals.So, imagine one man's shock when construction work on his whale oil plant's new warehouse awakens a god no one believes in anymore.(This AU is based heavily on the pseudo-Victorian/Edwardian setting of theDishonoredseries. Not that you need to have played or even understand the game.)





	1. Prologue: Golden Slumbers

**Author's Note:**

> the basic idea here is that all eight of the kids obtained god tier and created earth c, but were sealed away by plot-related forces. each of the eight kids controls their aspect. i'm not planning this ahead of time, so be prepared for a wild ride and a stupid lack of update schedule. UwU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[Golden Slumbers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AcQjM7gV6mI)** by The Beatles, 1969

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just in case, the title comes from the song this chapter is named for / **EDIT 9/2/2019:** now with an illustration, courtesy of myself. **[the art can be viewed at the original source here](https://tt40art.tumblr.com/post/182695889549/just-another-davekat-sketch-which-you-can-also) and reblogs are appreciated! :)**

Karkat Vantas is a fairly run-of-the-mill guy. His skin is a deep, rich brown, and his profile is one of chiseled features, with a prominent, thin nose. His black hair, though soft and relatively straight, is never well groomed, and it seems to naturally tangle. His grey eyes are often locked on his work, studying the gears of a local whale oil processing plant. He serves as third in command, and tending to the oil packaging. It’s a dangerous, tedious, and unforgiving profession, which he inherited from his father, one of the three founders of the Signless Oil Company, which proudly serves as the largest whale oil distributor for the entire country of Skaia. It’s a job that’s earned him admiration and praise, but it also comes with its risks.

Whale oil is a volatile material. Despite its wide usage, it remains the most dangerous everyday item on the planet. It’s highly combustible, and has a tendency to explode with the slightest of provocations. In fact, this is how Karkat’s father died; an explosion killed him instantly, as he unloaded an overstocked carriage delivery car.

For five years, Karkat Vantas has run his business without a single further incident. Despite being only twenty-six, he has won awards and recognition for the safety of his company.

Not that any of this is relevant to him at this exact moment. Now, at noon on the fifteenth day of Frost, he presides over the construction of a factory extension. The new building is intended to hold a maximum of three hundred tons of refined oil, and it’s been going smoothly. Now, however, he’s been summoned to investigate a recently unearthed oddity. Beneath the foundation of the city, under centuries of development and cobbled stone streets, the crew has found a monolithic stone enclosure. Flanking either side are large sculptures, which appear to depict eight-toothed gears. The entrance, formerly sealed, has been broken open by an errant strike from the hydraulic stone breakers, and the formerly bustling site is now silent.

“What?” Karkat demands of the head of construction, “What the absolute fuck could possibly be holding up everyone from working!?”

“Well,” the man responds with a nervous wave of his hand, a gesture that sweeps over the unearthed site. “This has. I mean, I ain’t a superstitious man, sir, but...”

“But WHAT?” bristles Karkat. He tugs at the collar of his wool overcoat, popping it up to shield against the stinging cold breeze. “What could possibly be the problem!?”

“Well, surely an educated man such’s yourself knows all ‘bout the legends...”

“Yes. I do.” Karkat’s response is as icy and unyielding as the air around him. “And I think they’re all bullshit.”

The man steps forward, boldly leaping down, into the pit. He slides down the rocky face, digging the heels of his boots in to maintain traction. Then, at the bottom, he steps forward.

The cave before him seems larger, now, but he remains undeterred. He shoves aside the loose stones, revealing nothing more than an empty space. An altar-like slab is the only thing inside, save for some thoroughly destroyed statues. None of it matters to him. What matters to him is keeping the construction from falling behind.

“EMPTY!” Karkat bellows, his voice carrying easily, “IT’S FUCKING EMPTY! GET BACK TO WORK!”

Slowly, the sounds of building resume. Hammers and chisels begin chipping away at stone, and iron beams begin to get eased into place.

Satisfied, Karkat departs. He continues his day as he had initially planned, overseeing operations as he always has. He does his usual safety checks, engaged with his workers, and ends the day by opening the dinner line for departing employees.

After this, he walks two short blocks home, to his third story apartment, overlooking Derse’s main thoroughfare, and prepares for bed. It’s business as usual; day in and day out, he does this. Day in and day out, he _will_ do this, until the day he dies, and that’s just how it has to be.

* * *

 _The man is short, bald, and ancient.  In the dancing light of the fire surrounding him, his eyes seem to glow red. His pale  skin is wrinkled, and his voice is coarse and quiet. The language he speaks is ancient, forgotten to time itself, yet, somehow, it can be understood._ _“For all your talk, you make a poor savior, Knight of Time. How disappointing. I expected a battle.”_

_The world seems to zoom out, revealing more of the scene. Another man, with a more youthful appearance, but similarly pale skin, kneels on the ground. His eyes are hidden behind reflective black sunglasses, and his golden blond hair is caked with dried blood. Flowing, rich red garments—of a caliber and vividness that is unlike anything that can be produced today—are tattered and torn. Silver shackles, inscribed with unknown runes, bind him to a stone altar. Though he struggles to free himself, he never speaks._

_“And what of your witticisms? Are you not the God of Time?” The other man’s voice booms, echoing off bare stone walls. “Your friends are dead, and you are the last that I shall conquer.” Now, with a gnarled, aged hand extended, the man grabs the blond by the neck. Despite his apparent frailty, he easily lifts the larger man into the air. “I am Lord English, and I am now a god unto myself!” He produces a knife, and plunges it into the chest of the apparent God of Time._

_A loud shriek—an inhuman, otherworldly sound, like the choir of a million broken hearts—pierces the air, though it doesn’t come from either man. Rather, it comes from the earth, itself. The ground trembles._

_As wrinkled skin spontaneously smooths, regaining its youthful flexibility, the God of Time turns to dust. The murderer draws a hood over his head, shielding his face from view, before stepping outside of the enclosure and gesturing for two awaiting followers, in similar robes, to seal the entryway._

_A slab is lifted into place, and large stone effigies of eight-toothed gears, which flank either side of the entryway, are toppled to the ground._

* * *

Karkat Vantas wakes to find himself drenched in cold sweat. His heart is racing, and his eyes instinctively study his surroundings, searching for anything out of place. His breathing is rapid, and his hands are shaking.

For a few minutes, it all seems so normal. Then, just as he is beginning to calm down, he sees it: a pitch black crow, its eyes glowing red, perched atop the chest at the foot of his bed. He meets its otherworldly gaze, begins to open his mouth, and watches, stunned, as it lets forth a piercing call, then suddenly collapses into a pile of ash.

He scrambles to his feet, figuring that this must be a continuation of his dream. Surely...

He reaches out, only to find that the ash is no longer there. In its place, burned into the mahogany, is the likeness of an eight-toothed gear.

The world is silent. No wind blows. No birds call. Only an unplaceable hiss, which seems to deep forth from this still-smoldering icon, can be heard.

“Fuck!” Karkat swears. “Fuck! I’m going back to bed.”

Though he follows his own instructions, when he wakes in the morning, he finds that the emblem is still branded upon his furniture. In fact, it is now spread sporadically throughout his house. It dots his floor and stains his dining table. It forms a haphazard track, which eventually leads to the entryway.

And, there, it seems that the culprit can be found, sitting with his back against the front door of Karkat’s house. He is a tall, pale-skinned man, with reflective black shades and golden blond hair. Though it appears that he’s changed his outfit, and is now wearing a pair of black slacks and a red vest, his identity is unmistakable; that doesn't make his appearance any less alarming.

If Karkat’s dream was any indicator, the man sitting on his floor is the God of Time. His eyes are hidden behind the strange lenses as before, and his face is marked by the same placid, inexplicable look of apathy. When he speaks, his voice is marked by a pronounced drawl, an accent that Karkat cannot place within the contexts of the world he knows. “How long's it been?”

“That's a fucking bold question for some stranger, who just presumably broke into my home, to be asking,” Karkat quips. When he continues, he asks the question that burns so brightly in the back of his mind, though he fears that he already knows the answer. “I'm Karkat Vantas, owner of the Signless Oil Company, and it's currently year 1802 of the House of English. Now, tell me, _who the fuck are you_?”

“Y-year 1802?” stammers the man, his fingers tangling in blond hair. “Fuck! _Fuck!_ I've been gone too long!”

Karkat speaks again, forcefully, and his voice easily rises above the other man's growing panic. “ _Who are you!?_ ”

Now, the blond stills. He stands, revealing that he stands at an impressive height of at least six feet, and speaks his response. His voice lacks any semblance of fear, yet it's dripping with an enigmatic air of wisdom. “My name is Dave Strider. I am the last in the Order of the Gods.” When the last six words leave his lips, they seem to reverberate, bouncing off the walls of the apartment, as if they were the stone of a cathedral. An oppressive, spine-chilling sensation accompanies these words. “I am the God of Time.”

At this point, stunned and, frankly, frightened within an inch of his life, Karkat Vantas wordlessly nods. The world fades away, and he faints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [dancing around the bonfire of my unfinished fics] OH BOY! ANOTHER DAVEKAT!


	2. The Inner Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[The Inner Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swT6YTPYwgM)** by The Beatles, 1988

When Karkat wakes, it seems that it was all a dream. Everything is as it had been before; everything is as it should be. The only remnant of the debacle is the effigy of a gear, burned into the wood of the furniture at the foot of his bed. All is quiet, and he is back in bed.

10:15.

He's late.

A groan escapes Karkat. He rises from his bed, throws on some clothes, and prepares himself a cup of coffee. As per usual, he finds the daily news tucked safely in the small mail collection basket just outside of his apartment door. He takes it and, as his coffee continues to brew, he does his routine morning scan of today's headlines.

 **Dragline Daily Press**  
**Issue for the 11 th day of Frost, Year 1802 of the House of English**  
**OIL PRODUCTION STILL SLUGGISH AT MAJOR REFINERIES - E. H. Elric**

Dualscar Refineries, the second largest producer and exporter of Derse whale oil, is facing increasing pressure, as large swathes of its workers fall ill with a mysterious illness. Doctors and patients alike have reported symptoms of nausea, headache, vertigo, fever, and chills. Some have also reported a persistent black rash, which seems to concentrate near the face and hands. Those in later stages of the disease have been observed as being in what many have described as a trance state.

When asked for commentary on the matter, Derse's renowned infectious diseases expert, Anton Sokolov, said the following: “This is unlike anything we've ever seen, and the scale is staggering. In spite of our best effort, and I very much assure you that we are making every effort possible to contain this, we have been unable to locate the means through which this disease is spread. To deem this a mere flu, as many are attempting, would be an egregious error.” After discussing the details of this unknown disease (which may be found printed on page B12 of the Medical section), Sokolov added, “Please be aware of the first signs of this deadly disease. Early infection presents as a persistent cough, mild confusion, and slight fever.”

At this time, and despite the best efforts of Derse's greatest minds, there is no cure. Physician William Bartholomew, of Pendleton's Family Care, discussed the grim prognosis with us. “Sufferers will eventually lose all traces of their personality. Who they were and what their goals and aspirations were will be of little importance to them. Late stages of this affliction are marked by a dramatic decrease in cognitive function, which is eased only by death. Often, the end comes as with heart failure or lung damage.” Bartholomew emphasized the need to be aware of what others around you are doing, their state of mind and health, and to be sure to keep yourself and your environment as clean as possible.

While we, at _Dragline Daily Post_ , have reached out to Eridan Ampora, the owner of Dualscar Refineries, multiple times, we have failed to hear any response. Our latest attempt, in which we offered a direct Vocagraph interview, was met with an order to cease and desist attempts at communication. Unlike Dualscar Refineries, the top competitors of Dualscar Refineries, Signless Oil (owned by K. Vantas, K. Maryam, and S. Captor) and Lighthouse Industrial (owned by E. Zahhak), are known for their facilities' cleanliness and overall safety. Notably, Ampora has been under heavy pressure by welfare groups in recent months.

As always, _Dragline Daily Post_ will continue to bring you the latest on this unsettling phenomenon.  
— Edward H. Elric, Investigative Journalism Lead

By now, the coffee has finished brewing. Karkat retrieves a cup and, after throwing on some passably decent clothing, prepares to head out. His progression is stopped, however, by the appearance of a man, who had most definitely not been there before, standing on the balcony of his apartment (which is connected to the entryway). When he approaches, the man turns, revealing himself to be the same man as before. Without any movement from him, the glass door slides open, and a smirk crosses the man's pale face.

“You're awake.” Smoke rises from a lit cigarette, which dangles from the stranger's mouth. It curls upwards, into the air, and around the golden blond of his hair, appearing like ghosts against the cold steel grey of the sky. Between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he twirls a black feather. “Should I introduce myself again, or are we all squared up, thot?”

In spite of all the questions he could possibly be asking, or, perhaps, _to_ spite them, Karkat replies, “What the actual _fuck_ does that mean?”

“What?” There's a pensive smile on the man's face, as if he knows everything. “Oh. Fuck. Y'all don't have the same slang. I...” He pauses and rubs his chin, which seems to be dotted with the faintest hint of silvery peach fuzz type stubble. “Nah. Just forget it. ‘Thot’ don't mean nothin’. Don't worry ‘bout it.” He waves his hand dismissively, though it appears more like he's trying to shoo a fly.

Karkat, meanwhile, stands frozen in place, mouth agape, fists clenched.

“It seems you've forgotten me, huh? I'm the God of Time, but you can call me Dave. Dave Strider. More casual, right? Anyhow, congrats to you. You've opened the bag, and the bag's filled with some high and stanky shit. You've awoken an old, forgotten god. Blah blah. All that. Congrats, dude, you're the Chosen One.” A shrug. A grin. Then, the man, apparently Dave, returns to his usual expression of unknowable apathy. “By the terms of the Curse, you're now the one who gets to release the other seven Protectors.”

“I will abso-fucking-lutely be doing no such thing!”

“Really?” Tilting his head forward, Dave reveals his eyes, which seem to almost glow a vivid, cherry red, over the rims of his strange lenses. “You'll let the world fall to shit for whatever the hell you're doing? Your...” Without a care in the world, he walks forward, brushing past the apartment owner, and to the open file on a nearby console table. He glances to it, then continues, “You're an oil tycoon, huh? Nice job. Good cash. Is it worth watching the world die?”

“You're a crazy fucker! You're deranged!”

His expression never changes, even as his clothes seem to burst into blindingly bright orange light, only to be immediately replaced by the same flowing red vestments as Karkat had seen in the dream. “Am I? Or, maybe, you are?”

“If I am, it's because of whatever the fuck you are!”

When next Dave speaks, his voice seems to echo. Behind it, it sounds as if there are dozens, perhaps hundreds, of others. All speaking at once. All demanding attention. “Your world is on the verge of collapse. I can see it. A plague is coming, and, oh fuckin’ boy, you're in for some _deep_ shit.” As the last of these echoes fades, and he continues to speak, his voice returns to normal. “Seriously, dude, I can show you. I promise, it all sounds like a load of steaming bullshit, but I can for-fuckin’-realsies demonstrate why you should listen to the random hobo who showed up in your apartment.” At the conclusion of this bold declaration, Dave offers an outstretched hand and a flicker of a reassuring smile.

And, despite his own misgivings and fears, Karkat relents. He takes the hand, only for a searing pulse of heat to rush through him. It burns up his spine, rushing straight to his head, and, as he reflexively closes his eyes, he sees a vivid vision.

_The air is thick with the smell of death. While the streets of Derse have never been spotless, they're now beyond filthy. Excrement lines the drainage channels, and dead bodies—some wrapped in cloth, others rotting and exposed—litter the landscape, scattered carelessly like seeds. Where there was once the constant, low hum of machinery and the calls of birds, there is now a consistent, morbid opera of coughing and wheezing. When he steps forward, he slips. Looking down, he's horrified to find that the substance he stumbles on is decomposing organic matter._

_Above him, hanging from thick metal wires, is a box, which endlessly loops the same unaffected speech. “By decree of the King, all activities not directly affecting the economy of Derse are hereby prohibited. All transportation of cures and elixirs to any location not listed as a Refuge of the Royal Protectorate, as stated in freely distributed pamphlets, is prohibited. Any civilian caught in possession of such contraband will be executed. From the House of English, we thank you for your continued cooperation and support of the royal cause.”_

The world around Karkat seems to shift. Now, it's somewhere else, in another time. Now, he's returned to the present. He stands, his gaze piercing into the blond before him like the spears of an ancient army. “What did I just see?”

“The future.” Dave shrugs. “So, tell me, do you want to help, or will you let what you know turn to dust?”

Silence. Karkat considers his options. Perhaps, he reasons, he's dreaming. And, if he's dreaming, why would any of this even matter? Why should any of this matter? It's a dream. He's trapped in a bad dream, and he might as well go along with it. “Fine. But don't think I'll like it.”

With this, Dave reaches out. He takes firm hold of Karkat's hand, and the smoke from his cigarette moves outward, wrapping its tendrils around the interlocked hands like a rope. It briefly emits the faintest of red glows. Then, just as Dave releases his grip, it dissipates. “The deal has been made. Congratulations, Karkat Vantas, you're going to save the world.”

* * *

Kanaya Maryam is a woman both feared and admired. Those who know her well speak of her as a wise leader, and a calm, dependable companion. Her enemies cower, hearing of a ruthless woman willing to do anything to achieve a greater good. She's tall, slender, and has skin as dark and as flawless as the endless, awe-inspiring abyss of the night. Her nose is wide and flat, and her jade green eyes are always lit with a spark of otherworldly knowledge. When she speaks, she enunciates precisely. And, even now, as she lounges back in the black leather armchair in her office, she retains an air of poise and grace. “So, let me try and try and understand what you've said. You woke up, realized that there was a bird in your house—?”

“A black bird. A fucking crow, and it had these glowing red eyes!” Karkat snaps back, wringing his hands together. His head is low and, as he sits on the plush pink sofa, he slides even further down, as if he's trying to sink into it.

“I see... And it turned into a man?”

“A douchebag. It turned into a raging, stupid, blond-haired douchebag.”

A slow nod. “Yes. Well, that man told you that it was now your duty to save the world, correct? Strange. An interesting reason to have missed work yesterday, I must say.”

“No! I promise! It's not just an excuse!” Karkat leans forward, positioning himself so that he's closer to Kanaya, and lowers his voice. For him, however, a lowered voice is more akin to a slightly louder than average volume. “Look behind you! It's there!”

Following Karkat's extended finger, Kanaya's eyes fall upon a bird. As has just been described, its feathers are black, and its eyes are vivid red. As she stares at it, the creature cocks its head to the side. It peers at her, as if studying her, before letting forth a call, which sounds nothing out of the ordinary. Then, in no particularly strange manner, it hops to the other end of the window ledge, whereupon it settles into a sitting position.

“That bastard’s playing tricks on us! Look at him, it’s like he’s fucking sneering at me! Rub the shit even deeper into the gratuitously deep, open wound. That’s fine, you stupid feathered beast!”

Again, Kanaya offers a slow nod. “Okay... Well, my friend, I think it’s finally gotten to you. As the head of Signless Oil, I hereby demand that you take at least a few days off.” She opens up her notebook, dips her pen into her trademark green ink, and hands over a written copy of this command. “Here. Go and frolic somewhere. I’m sure you’ll feel better later, hm?”

“I—You don't believe me, do you?”

“Honestly? Not really.”

A loud groan escapes Karkat, but, nonetheless, he obeys orders. He crumples up the paper and storms from the room, leaving behind a thoroughly confused Kanaya.

* * *

After spending a night imbibing more enough alcohol to render himself intoxicated, Karkat Vantas stumbles back into his apartment. It is 1:30 AM. His mind is foggy, and his posturing is more akin to a wild, wiggling caterpillar than any sort of solid stance.

Unfortunately, he finds the last person he wants to see when he opens the door. “YOU!” He snaps, jabbing an accusatory finder at the impeccably stoic blond before him. “You’re a fucking asshole!”

Dave, having reverted back to a more era-appropriate vest and slacks, shoved his hands into his pockets. He shrugs. “Yeah. You’ve said that a few times. Gettin’ a mighty feelin’ that you ain’t fond of me. Not that it matters. Now, on the bright side, we got plenty of time to—”

In a scene reminiscent of one barely a day old, Karkat teeters. He leans over, vomits, and collapses to the floor.

And, with a resigned sigh, Dave once again sets about the task of cleaning up the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Worldbuilding Notes**  
>  **Vocagraph:** Ever played _Bioshock Infinite_? This is sort of like a Voxaphone, except it's more like a telephone, but more steampunk-y. Don't ask me specifics. I'm not a scientist. Think: The old telephones with separate ear pieces and microphones.
> 
> Collectively, the eight kids are considered the Protectors. ALL OF THEM ARE HERE I'M STUPID AND CAN'T COUNT.


	3. Nowhere Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[Nowhere Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8scSwaKbE64)** by The Beatles, 1965

Without the energy of his fellow Protectors, Dave has little power. At most, he can manipulate his own form and make small adjustments to time. They’re not nearly as dramatic as before. Whereas he could formerly freeze time entirely, he can now do little more than slow or advance a small handful of seconds.

Not that he’s keen on doing any more wild meddling with time. No, he’s perfectly content staying back, allowing it to run his course, and to accept its outcomes. He’s learned his lesson. He’s already been imprisoned in a stone altar for who-knows-how-long; he doesn’t want to be in that situation again. Nonetheless, with the newfound Liberator in a drunken stupor, he finds himself trying to utilize a power he rarely used before, and is unsure if he can even use now.

His mind reaches out, spreading across massive distances in mere seconds. It streaks, like lightning, across the globe, attempting to connect to a very, very familiar tether.

 _“Just so you’re aware, Dave, you won’t actually locate me.”_ The voice is disembodied, yet its unyielding calmness makes it obvious that it belongs to none other than Rose Lalonde. _“However, if you wish, I can supply you with my incredibly rough, tentative estimate of my location.”_

At this point, having confirmed that his power to commune with his session’s counterpart is still somewhat functional, Dave begins a two-way discussion. Of course, all of this is carried out telepathically.

_“Tell me, then, oh wise one. Sister, where art thou?”_

_“Shut up, David. I believe that I am not far from your location. Since you were awakened, I have been able to passively observe my surroundings. Judging by the state of decay my shrine is in, we’ve been out of commission for a minimum of one thousand years.”_ Even without seeing her, Dave can imagine Rose’s pose: hands on her hips, with a smirk on her face. _“I also assume that each of us is inprisoned within our original shrines. If you can remember where mine is, you’ll locate me without difficulty.”_

_“Honey, I barely even know how to get back to my own shrine. Those fuckers were made so damn long ago it’s a big, inappropriately censored blur in my memory.”_

_“Just beyond the mountain range you named after Skyrim, dear brother.”_

_“Oh. Gotcha. Know where you’re talkin’ ‘bout now. Catch you soon, sis. Kissing emoji.”_

_“Please never speak or think the words ‘kissing emoji’ in my direction ever again. Even platonically, and in the most familial of ways, I wouldn’t dare engage in any signs of affection with you beyond the briefest of hugs.”_

Dave shrugs. _“Rude, but fair. Expect me soon.”_

As this conversation occurs, something else is occurring. Several miles away, in one of the few actual parks within Derse proper, recent resource mining has shaken the earth. A grassy mound, formerly nondescript, has shed some of its foliage. Now, smooth, polished white stone has revealed itself. Not that many people notice it. No, most people don't venture this far back into the park. Why would they? Few even have the luxury of having time to spend at home, much less at a park.

Thus, it goes unnoticed by all, until about an hour later, when it is spotted by the keen eyes of particular red-eyed crow, who just so happens to be gliding over the landscape.

* * *

Karkat wakes fully expecting for the past day or so to be a dream. He expected to be in his bed, free of any sort of otherworldly agreement, and, for the briefest of moments, it seems it was. His home is as it should be, and all is silent.

Then, the normalcy is shattered. A voice speaks, drawing Karkat’s attentions to the man sitting in the armchair to his immediate right. “So, our first stop will be the city park.”

“Oh! No!” Karkat groans, massaging his throbbing temples, “Our first stop will be absolutely nowhere, because I do not have any duty to you beyond some sort of vague, fairy shit magic trick. You can tie red ropes around me all you fucking want, but it won’t do a thing!” As he says this, he raises his hand, only to find a glaring golden ‘7’ on his right wrist. A disheartened groan serves as his reaction. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope.” Dave's voice is cheerful, with the tone of a smug someone, who just so happens to know exactly what's happening. “Welcome to the pantheon of the servants of the gods, I fuckin’ guess.” Regardless of his tone, his face remains placid and unfeeling, a trait that only serves to infuriate Karkat even more.

“I never agreed to this! I mean... I _did_ , but I thought it was all one big, stupid joke. This all one big, stupid, inconsequential joke.”

A thoughtful hum is accompanied by the rubbing of a stubble-covered chin. Dave offers a slow, deliberate shrug as a prelude to his commentary, “I would consider the death of an entire nation at the hands of a rat-borne super-plague to be a pretty fuckin’ consequential thing, t’ be fair.” There's a brief glimmer of a smirk, followed by a smileless laugh. “Look, pal, you don't gotta’ help me. But you'll have a few downsides, like—” he counts off his statements on his fingers, “—the weight of a societal collapse on your scrawny little shoulders, that there tattoo on your wrist, and the possible rise of a regime of batshit crazy dumbass dictators.”

As he listens, Karkat does his best to deconstruct the claims.

The first is simple enough. While he can neither prove nor definitively disqualify the validity of this particular claim, he finds comfort in the fact that its only basis is a singular, strange dream. Similarly, the second of these statements holds little merit on its own. Nonetheless, he needs qualification to actually understand the implications. So, he asks. “And what, exactly, does this stupid seven mean, anyhow?”

“Seven more to go. Seven more idiots to release from their rocky cages. Open the doors and release my pals to the ages. Got it?”

“Wonderful, so we're reading a children's book, now, are we?”

“You want to put it that way, sure.”

Silence.

Karkat levels the most venomous glare possible at the blond so-called-god. A low, involuntary growl rises from his throat. Though he wants nothing more than to punch this man in the face, he has a bad feeling that doing so will likely result in his death. For all he knows, he'd be instantly vaporized. That doesn't stop him from a false swipe, however. He aims a punch, so that it purposefully flies past Dave's face.

In return, the other man grabs Karkat's wrist. With an ease and power that can only come from repeated practice and experience, he twists the other man's arm behind his back. A knee is dug into Karkat's back, and Dave forces him to the floor, all with a calm, faint smile. “I wouldn't try that if I were you.”

As he vainly kicks at Dave's shins, Karkat snarls his response, “I wasn't going to hit you, stupid.”

“Fine.” The grip is released.

Karkat scrambles back onto his feet. “I'm stuck in this massive bullshit clusterfuck, aren't I?”

“Oh, buddy, you're in balls-deep in this fuckin’ quicksand. You ain't coming out of this easy.” Dave turns to the door and begins to walk. “Get some shit together. We're going to go and release Rose.”

 

By 7:00 PM, the world is dark, and both Karkat and Dave stand in front of the mound. Even more of the foliage has fallen away and, now, the beveled outline of a sun—its edges chiseled, as if to deface it—peeks out. It is eerily silent. There are no birds, nor wind, nor soft footsteps, only the two men. And, as Karkat looks on, Dave presses his hand to the ground. The earth beneath his palm emits a slight glow and, as his hand rises, it forms into the shape of a longsword.

Karkat opens his mouth to speak, only to decide otherwise.

Dave, meanwhile, steadies himself, then, against all possible logic. charges forward. The sword, its blade alight with red flame, plunges into the outward-facing wall of earth and stone as if was water. The ground shakes, and the rest of the foliage falls away, revealing a smooth stone surface. It becomes obvious that the sun motif has been defaced, and the sword now juts from its center. Traces of gold leaf are spotted across the inset design, making it obvious that this was once a highly revered sight. In the back of his mind, Karkat finds himself wondering how this happened. How has something of such importance been forgotten to time?

“Take the sword out,” instructs Dave, his voice as calm and cool and as the breezeless air.

“I'm sorry,” Karkat laughs, though not because he's amused, “You want me to do  _what_? You think I can get that out? What is this? Some sort of fucking convoluted fairy tale?”

“It's easy. I promise. Just do it.”

With the trained skepticism of a lifelong cynic, Karkat grabs the handle. He pulls, only to find that the sword slides out as easily as it was driven in. As the blade emerges, the flames reappear. They surge up the blade, engulf the handle, and lap at Karkat's wrist, yet he feels no pain. In fact, the flames aren't hot. By the time he's removed the blade, they've concentrated around his hand. He watches, with both amazement and fear, as the seven on his wrist ticks down, becoming a six.

By the time's he's able to draw his eyes away from what's happening to himself, Karkat finds himself staring at a being he can only assume to be the second of these Protectors. She stands at roughly the same height as him, and shares Dave's golden hair. Her skin, however, is slightly more tanned, and her face, rounder. A vivid, cool pink stains her lips and, when she opens her eyes, there is a brief moment in which they're alight with the same color. Flowing golden robes, accented with fine embroidery and made of the finest silks, cover her form. “Ah. That was less time than I expected, dear.” Her voice is soft and clear; there's a sort of unknowable depth to it, as if it sounds from the depths of knowledge, itself. “I suppose I should introduce myself, for the benefit of our appointed hero. My name is Rose Lalonde, Goddess of Light.” She punctuates this statement with a haphazard gesture in Dave's direction, “And I see you've met my counterpart, Dave.”

“Oh, I most fucking certainly have,” Karkat growls. “Now, let's get back to my apartment before anyone else sees this. Not that they will. I've just gone completely insane, apparently.” With his shoulders slouched forward, and his hands buried deep inside his pockets, he turns on his heel and trudges back, following the path they had taken before.

Behind him, he hears the two gods muttering. “Dave, are you sure this is a wise idea? Should we perhaps attempt to obtain a different Liberator?”

“Well, that would involve killin’ this poor chump, and that'd look hella’ bad. So, nah, let's give him some time. I see him coming around.” There's a strange sense of confidence in Dave's voice, as if he already knows the outcome of events that have yet to take place. “Do you know anything about the others?”

“Unfortunately, I can't recall the locations of their shrines, and I certainly wouldn't be able to locate them with such a drastically altered landscape. We'll just have to search, the old fashioned way, for them.”

“Well, ain't that just un-fuckin’-fortunate.”

A sudden breeze pushes as Karkat's back. When he turns, he catches a glimpse of a crow rising into the air. He spots the tail of a black cat disappearing into the brush and, with unwavering confidence in the fact that he's imagining all of this, he turns his attentions back to his long trek home. _Surely,_ he thinks, _he'll wake from this nightmare soon._


	4. I'll Follow the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[I'll Follow the Sun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28d_A_NuJ7A)** by The Beatles, 1964

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized i did the math wrong and also forgot there were eight kids so congrats i've gone back and retconned something within the first five chapters. all eight kids are gods. my bad.

He looks over his shoulder constantly, his eyes underscored by the darkest shadows imaginable on a human face, and his hair is even more bedraggled than usual. When he speaks, there's an even sharper edge to his voice, as if it's been honed by a whetstone, and his breath reeks of top-shelf mead. It's only been two days since he allegedly released a second god upon an unknowing world, and Karkat Vantas is already beyond the standard definition of “frazzled”. He's positively unhinged, and that much is obvious to his friend, who just so happens to be sitting across from him, pouring him another cup of his favored alcoholic beverage.

This friend just so happens to be Sollux Captor, a man with medium tan skin, straight black hair, and an oddly elongated, thin stature. When he speaks, his words are marked by a pronounced lisp. “KK,” he addresses his friend with an old nickname, “You sure you've never tried absinthe? I've heard that shit fucks you up real good, you know. I mean, remember how crazy Gamzee went?”

“It's not absinthe,” Karkat snaps. He draws the hooded cloak he's wearing even tighter around his body. “Look, Sollux, I swear this is real.”

“You swear? To which god?” A grin, revealing two oddly pointed canines, spreads across Sollux's face. Naturally arched brows arch even higher. “Too soon?”

“You don't believe me, do you? Fuck! Kanaya doesn't believe me either, but these two are just fucking slumming it up in my apartment, acting like they're from a completely different world, and muttering constantly between themselves about locations of other shrines. I mean, this bullshit is all supposed to be a big, stupid legend, right? The Old Gods never existed! They were some sort of spooky tale you'd tell to kids to make sure they'd shut their fucking feeding holes and slither off to bed.” Karkat peers into his glass, seeming to study the flakes of added cinnamon, which swirl within its liquid depths like dust filtering through a window. “Ah. This is pointless.” He lifts the glass, bottoms up, and chugs. When he's done, he slams it back down, onto the table, and fishes out his wallet. After dropping his half of the tab, in the form of copper, silver, and gold coins, he rises to his feet. “I'll go talk to Kanaya. She'll have to believe me this time.”

Sollux shrugs. “Okay, pal. Suit yourself. Enjoy your vacation.”

There's no reply from Karkat.

 

Later, as he reenters his apartment, he's met with the sight of, of all things, Kanaya Maryam sitting across from Rose Lalonde, laughing as if she's been told the funniest joke in the world. Dave, meanwhile, is sitting in the corner, visibly sulking, and possibly bored out of his mind. Now, the fact that Kanaya is in his apartment isn't entirely strange. He'd given her his spare key for safety reasons, and he can only assume that Sollux had told her of their meeting. The fact that she has quickly befriended the apparent Goddess of Light, however, is vaguely concerning.

Karkat clears his throat and, once the two women turn to look at him, he speaks up, “So, uh...?”

“Oh! Karkat!” Kanaya offers a nervous laugh. “I was simply acquainting myself with Rose. She's quite marvelous, a lovely woman! I'm surprised you didn't introduce me to her earlier! You know I've been looking for a special someone.”

“I just met her yesterday,” Karkat growls, “And she emerged out of a fucking rock.”

“Oh, she told me all about it. Anyhow, I was going to say that I've decided to help you with your new quest. Being a whale oil mogul is only fun for so long, it seems, and this is a great little break from business. I've also taken the liberty of arranging for us to have a year of paid vacation from our duties. Sollux is handling everything, and he's perfectly fine with it—”

“It only took me  _two hours_ to get home, dammit!” Karkat yanks off his scarf and throws it on the floor. “Fucking shit, Kanaya!”

“Do you not want my help? As you're aware, I'm quite handy when it comes to researching.”

“Oh, no, I appreciate the hell out of your dedication, but you didn't believe me a few days ago!”

“Yeah,” Dave speaks up, smirking, “Well, she hadn't  _met_ us a couple of days ago, so...”

“Did I fucking  _ask_ for your asinine babbling!?””

“Ah. This seems to have gotten out of hand. Perhaps we should leave.” Rose smirks. She offers her hand to Kanaya, and the two quickly slip out of the room, brushing past Karkat without so much as a word more.

And, thus, the two men are once again left alone.

By now, Karkat has hung his coat on the nearby coat rack, and set his shoes aside, on the designated mat to the right of the door. He shoots heated, unyielding glares at Dave, yet he says nothing to him.

“Y'know,” Dave mumbles, quickly catching onto the message that's being sent, “I might just skeedaddle, too. Peace.”

Now alone, Karkat breathes a sigh of relief, something he hasn't been able to do in days. He opens the door only long enough to retrieve the paper, then begins to settle into his armchair. He lights his fireplace, begins brewing some coffee, and revels in being truly alone. For now, he's filled with a sense of peace and familiarity.

* * *

Rose and Kanaya sit beneath the the bare branches of a cherry tree, which has grown through the cracks in a long-since-destroyed sidewalk. The two act as if they're old friends, chattering between themselves without a care in the world. Neither seems to have much interest in acknowledging the world outside of the other.

“So, as I understand it, you're...?” Kanaya begins.

Rose, in turn, concludes the sentence, “The Goddess of Light. Dave is the God of Time. Obviously, there are a few more left. Namely: Breath, Space, Heart, Hope, Life, and Void. I'll introduce you to them as they are released, but, as of now, we have no current leads on their current positions.” Despite the fact that she needn't intake food or water to survive, she sips at a surprisingly decent cup of green tea. The flavor is mellower than she remembers, though she can't think of whether this is due to time or if Earth C has a different green tea plant altogether. “Our most confident guesses place all of the gods within the confines of the country of Skaia, obviously; that is where the event, which precipitated this entire fiasco, took place. Moreover, Skaia was the first civilization established on this planet, and we personally oversaw its development, at least until we were unceremoniously trapped within our shrines.”

Kanaya nods and, while she seems to be absorbing this information, it's obvious that she's more than a bit confused. Not that Rose is surprised, nor does she find this fact in any way unpleasant. She's sure that if she had been approached by two apparent gods of an old, forgotten world, she would also cry a hearty foul. Nonetheless, she continues to ask for information. “Would I be wrong to assume that the other gods' locations are not as accessible as yours and Dave's?”

“Possibly, and possibly not. We don't know where they were, as the creation of the shrines occurred so long ago that neither Dave nor I can recall their precise locations.”

Now, Rose pulls a map from the black purse over her shoulder. She unfurls it on the table, and the geographical information shifts, updating itself from its last iteration. (If Rose remembers correctly, the last time she updated the map was roughly 1,500 years ago, so she's not surprised that the revisions take a few moments.) When the shifting ink has settled, it shows that the city is located at the heart of Skaia. Rose's finger points to the mountain range, to the immediate north, which wrap in a rough sickle shape around the furthest outskirts of the city's limits.

“We are aware of the fact that Dirk and Jake—or, rather, Heart and Hope—built their shrines in close proximity to one another. Our best guesses place them somewhere in this section of the mountain range.” Having explained this, Rose pulls forth a plain felt tipped marker, and scribes a ‘2’ on this section of the map. She then gestures to Mount Dopelympus (named by her brother, and whose name she retains a strong distaste for) and continues, “Breath's shrine was placed somewhere on the highest mountain on the planet. Again, that gives us plenty of room to cover. Hopefully, he didn't put his shrine on top of it, but, knowing him, he likely did.” A ‘1’ is written on the peak. Then, returning the marker cap to its rightful place, Rose sighs. “Those are the only ones we can remember in any way. Hopefully, one of these three will remember more.”

“Yes, that would be quite helpful,” Kanaya's response is completely flat, the perfect example of deadpan.

As two people can play this hypothetical game, Rose offers a similar answer. Her voice is carefully cultivated to carry the most unaffected tone possible, and it's almost unsettling how similar to her pseudo-brother she sounds as she speaks, “Yes, that would be incredibly useful.”

Kanaya counters with a wry smile.

* * *

A man, with his face cloaked in shadow and his words filled with false compassion, leans back in his plush throne. Pale hands are folded, steepled beneath his chin, as he speaks, “Do you feel it? Someone has been disturbing the balance. There’s someone out there, someone else...”

Another man, timid and shy, with the disposition of a fearful servant, offers a shaky bow. “Sire, I am unsure of what you speak. Perhaps we could consider our options. We know of Makara, the absinthe-drinker, but he is currently in prison.”

“As I very much remember,” thunders the ruler. Then, a low cackle. As he sits back, the hood of the man’s calico cloak casts an even larger shadow over his face, but it fails to hide his wicked smile. “Release him.”

“I’m sorry,” responds the cowering advisor. “You said to—?”

“Release him,” the cloaked man demands.


	5. I'm Only Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[I'm Only Sleeping](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BT5j9OQ7Sh0)** by The Beatles (1966)

When it comes to weapons, there are two primary disciplines within Skaia. The first is the longstanding and well-honed art of swordsmanship. The most popular blades these days are one-handed slashing types, such as sabers, though thrusting weapons (such as the elegant rapier) are still prevalent. The second discipline is that of marksmanship. Now, it’s not as if guns were just invented. Gunpowder and the associated weapons have been in use for hundreds of years, but the widespread access to such weaponry is fairly new. As such, safety is still a bit dodgy, as are the weapons, themselves. Low quality guns have been known to backfire with explosive, deadly results; cases of traumatic amputations and burns are documented near-daily, yet the demand refuses to subside enough for production to slow or cease.

With that much said, Karkat Vantas is quite proud of his weaponry. While he often carries a long combat knife, often hidden under his jacket, (or, when it’s warmer, tucked inside his right boot) he also owns a single Noir pistol. It is by no means a cheaply made gun, nor is it widely available. Such pieces are finely crafted standard sized revolvers, with designs of gold spiraling down the length of the outside of the barrels, and a finely detailed hand-carved ivory handle. It is as much a work of art as it is a deadly weapon, and Karkat treats it as such; as the rain pours down outside his window, he sits before his fireplace, carefully polishing the metal surfaces of the gun.

Nearby, Dave Strider watches, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You plannin’ on goin’ hunting?” he says.

“I’m maintaining a weapon, so that it won’t blow up in my fucking face next time I fire it, you absolute dingdong,” Karkat counters.

As it stands, the housing arrangements have been determined thusly: he keeps Dave, while Kanaya hosts Rose. This arrangement seemed fair when it was made, but it’s starting to show its flaws. It’s the most modest thing to do, but compatibility is lacking between the two men.

And, as if to emphasize this, Dave offers a dry laugh. “Use it often?”

“No, I don’t go around on sprees, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I mean, I was really trying to ask if it’s safe ‘round here, but I suppose that’s another way to take the question. Just grab that inquiry and run with it. Sprint all the way down to the end of the field with that shit, spike it into the ground, and party like you’ve brought about unending world peace, right?”

Karkat doesn’t bother to mask his befuddled disinterest in Dave’s ramblings; he stopped doing that two days ago. “Whatever you say, asshole.”

“Well, anyhow, we’re still trying to nail down where the fuck the rest of us are. I mean, the rest of us,” Dave gestures vaguely to himself, “I’m sure there are plenty of regular humans fuckin’ around. I guess it’d be too much to ask you if you had any clue?”

“I thought the old gods were a myth, some sort of fucked up fairy tale. So yeah, genius, that’s a little far fetched.” Karkat punctuates this statement with a roll of his eyes. At the same time, he sets aside his gun. “Look, I want to be free of this shit as much as you, so why don’t we just hurry it on along and get all our goddamned ducks in order? I’ll go back to my life, and you go back to whatever assish ethereal hole you crawled out of, hm?”

“Damn, you're just a bundle of fun, aren't you?” Dave reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. (Admittedly, he had stopped smoking long ago, only to take it up again after realizing he was immortal.) He puffs on it with an air of indifference, though his brows furrow. “Sweet baby Jesus, this thing sucks. What shitty tobacco.”

Karkat growls. “First of all, don't smoke in my goddamned house! Secondly, of course it sucks. Slick Cigarettes are the bottom of the pile. You didn't fucking notice when you only shilled out two cents for a whole pack, huh?”

There's a pause on Dave's side. He cocks his head to the side. Then, oddly enough, he laughs. It's a low, breathy sound, which Karkat would consider more of a chuckle than anything. “I didn't pay. Found ‘em in a dumpster, still sealed.”

“Fucking hell.” Karkat buries his face in his hands.

Clearly, this entire charade can't be over soon enough. If he has to put up with one more second of this tomfoolery, he's fairly certain he'll be walking himself straight into the nearest hospital for behavioral observation.

“You know, the world sure has changed. Last time I checked, electricity wasn't a thing yet.” As he says this, Dave ogles at a nearby light bulb. “I'm guessing this is all oil powered, right?”

“I wouldn't fucking know, seeing as I'm the owner of a whale oil plant, now, would I?” Karkat counters, through gritted teeth.

Dave, meanwhile, continues his inane prattling. He rambles endlessly about things, to the point that Karkat eventually decides to lock the strange blond in his parlor and retreat to the relative safety of his bedroom.

 

The next day, Karkat wakes to find Dave missing. The parlor window is open, and he can only assume that Dave has taken off to look for something. Nonetheless, he'll be damned if he lets this opportunity for some peace and quiet escape him. He quickly sets about making himself as comfortable as possible. After closing the window, to ward off the frigid air outside, he lights a fire and gathers the newspaper from his mailbox. After preparing himself some toast and jelly with a nice, black coffee, he settles down to read.

 **Dragline Daily Press**  
**Issue for the 15 th day of Frost, Year 1802 of the House of English**  
**RISING CONCERNS AS OUTBREAK TURNS DEADLY - E. H. Elric**

Unfortunately, this update to the story many readers of _Dragline Daily Press_ have been closely following is incredibly grim. Photography of the incidents has been circulated, and we have included it within this issue. The staff cautions readers of poor constitution to avoid seeing the images, as they are quite graphic. (Images may be found on the reverse of this article.) The disease outbreak, which began at Dualscar Refineries, continues to develop into a larger threat. Though efforts by the Dualscar Refinery staff have been made to cover up the severity of the unnamed disease, reports are now indicating that up to thirty people have already died. These deaths have been linked to a combination of the various symptoms, which include large, infected pustules covering the body, severe lethargy, loss of mental acuity, and excessive vomiting.

Attempts have been made to reach out to Dualscar Refineries for comments, but no invoices have been answered. It should be noted that the planet has ceased all production and processing, and has been closed for the few days.

Lord English has declared a state of emergency for the Cain district, home of Dualscar Refineries. Reports from the quarantined district indicate that sudden and unprovoked bouts of aggression are now among the symptoms. Some readers have written in, noting that attacks on peace keepers and overseers are rising. While being attacked by an afflicted individual will not, by itself, spread the disease, the resultant wounds are ripe points of entry. Authorities suggest that anyone attacked and wounded in such a manner present themselves to designated emergency tents. The locations of these tents within the Cain district can be found on page B21, and are listed in alphabetical order.

Furthermore, the first case outside of the Cain district has been reported. Three cases have been sighted in the Capitol area, and two are suspected in the Lower Valley district. More details will be published promptly by _Dragline Daily Press_ once they are available.  
E. H. Elric — Investigative Lead

Beneath this article is another, related headline.

 **Dragline Daily Press**  
**PROTECTING YOURSELF FROM THE OIL PLAGUE - Dr. J. Steinman**

Many readers have written in the past few days of their concerns over the rapidly spreading plague. While health officials are currently unsure of what the exact cause of the disease is, it has been noted that it appears to spread through close contact with infected individuals. As such, we have compiled a list of ways to ensure your family's safety. Continue reading to find out more!

1\. Report _all_ cases to the appropriate authorities. A list of available aid stations—red canvas tents, which will bear the words “Infection Containment and Treatment Center”—is available on page B21. While most of these are focused within the troubled Cain district, Lord English has announced that tents will begin to appear in all districts. Officials hope to have at least one treatment center open per district by next week.

2\. Isolate the afflicted! While this is a very hard thing to do, it is best that you and the remaining healthy individuals in your household are kept safe. Seal off the room of the diseased individual and, if entry is necessary, cover your mouth and nose. Fabric masks are being distributed to all citizens of the Cain district, and are available for the low price of $1 per mask from your local health clinics elsewhere.

3\. Royal Decree 1282 dictates that all infected individuals in the late stage of the disease be quarantined. Please escort your loved one to the designated Infection Containment and Treatment Center. There, officials will show you the way to the Quarantine Sector. Until a cure is found, the Skaia Health and Safety Board assures you that your loved one will receive only the best care.

4\. Do not attempt to bury those who have died of this disease. Please report all deaths to the appropriate authorities. For readers in the Cain district, a relief hotline has been set up. Please send your death notices via line 612, redirect line “Casualty report”.

5\. Finally, refrain from traveling to or from the Cain district. While this will increase the risk that you and those around you will contract this disease, it is also against Royal Decree 1283, released yesterday.

Hopefully, these tips will help keep you and your families safe during this trying time. For more information, feel free to reach out to the staff of _Dragline Daily Press_ , who will be more than happy to assist you in contacting Dr. Steinman for more information. (Phone charges apply as expected during an in-person consult.)  
Dr. J. Steinman — Health and Wellness Division

As he finishes reading, Karkat lets forth a long sigh. He considers the circumstances. If it _is_ true that the disease began in an oil refinery, many will assume that it is linked to the job. Thus, he finds himself faced with the decision of temporarily closing his own plant. While this would normally be a no-brainer, the current situation calls for the continued operation of Signless Oil. The expansion _must_ be built, after all; too many people have invested far too much money for the project to be halted so unceremoniously. However, there's also the issue of public image. Should he continue to run his plant as usual, it's likely that public pressure will begin to weigh down on him, forcing a cessation of activity, regardless.

Setting aside the paper, Karkat retrieves his pocket notebook. He flips it open, labels the first blank page with the date, and makes a note to discuss the current problems with Kanaya.

Once this serious business has concluded, he once again picks up the paper. He flips through the pages, stopping once he's reached the daily crossword, and resumes his morning ritual.

* * *

From his perch, atop the chimney hood of an abandoned hat shop, a red-eyed crow watches the happenings of a bustling street. White carriages—some motorized, and others drawn by horses—rattle down the cobblestone paths. The bright red cross on their sides betrays their purpose, yet, the longer the feathered god watches, the more he notices that something is wrong.

Despite their welcoming atmosphere and cheerful civil staffers, the red tents are overcrowded. Behind hastily built corrugated walls of sheet metal, which block off entire alleyways, the sick are being hastily stacked atop one another, like matches. Through the windows of adjacent buildings, medical procedures can be seen taking place, yet none have managed to end with anything other than a white cloth placed over the face of a fresh corpse. Such surgeries happen far too fast, and with too much precision and coordination to be legitimate. Even without any sort of medical knowledge, Dave knows that there's more to this than what's appearing on the surface.

Yet, of all the red flags, the most concerning comes in the form of armed guards, who patrol the streets, scrutinizing every individual for signs of illness. Those suspected to be harboring the disease are quickly whisked away, and added to the growing piles of what seems to be more a morgue than a treatment center.

Something, Dave reasons, is terribly wrong. Something needs to be done to reverse this, and it needs to be done quickly. Yet, without access to most of his powers, he finds himself at the whims of fate. For the first time in a long, long time, Dave Strider feels absolutely powerless.


	6. Help!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[Help!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Q_ZzBGPdqE) by The Beatles (1965)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Now with art at the beginning! Please check!**

The sounds of gunfire break the silence of the night. Shattering glass and panicked shouts fill the air, and Karkat Vantas finds himself waking to a world of pure chaos.

“Motherfuckers,” a low, guttural voice comes from what seems to be just outside the door to Karkat’s room.

It’s followed by a gunshot, the clanging of metal, and the sound of a harsh yell. Someone stumbles away, and the front door to the apartment slams shut. After this, the door to the bedroom opens. Dave steps in, as calm as ever, with a bullet in his chest and a shirt soaked with blood. The left lens of his shades has been shattered, revealing a startling, cherry red eye.

“What the fuck—” Karkat begins.

Dave cuts him off. “You’re not safe here. Get what matters most to you. It’s probably best if we skeedaddle real quick-like.”

“I... You’re telling me to vacate my own goddamned house!?” Karkat sputters.

“Yes,” Dave responds, his voice flat. “You can stay, I guess, but I’m sensing you’ll be dead by noon.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I’m the God of Time. I can see what is to come, to some extent. You can either come with me or get murdered by the rifle-toting maniac I just fought off.” As he speaks, the wound in his chest behind to close. The blood slowly works itself inward, disappearing from his outfit. “And I can sure you that jackass ain’t dead. I couldn’t land a solid hit on him, what with all that fuckin’ hopping around. Most I got was a solid hit to his side. He’s bleeding and wounded, but that’s not stopping that bastard.”

Confused, frightened, and in shock, Karkat can muster up little more to say than, “You’re bleeding on my floor.”

“It’ll come out. I’m giving you ten minutes, dude, then we have to leave.”

A low growl. A spine-chilling cackle. The front door to the apartment is defiled by the blade of an emergency fire axe. Through the hole, a man is visible—tall, lanky, and disheveled. Wild brown hair falls in his face, and a wide, inscrutable grin is plastered across his face.

“Fuck! We're out of time!” Dave grabs onto the back of Karkat's wrinkled shirt. He drags him through the bedroom, picks up the gun on the bedside table on the way out, and begins firing randomly in the direction of the intruder. “Move, dammit! You wanna fuckin’ die, man!? MOVE!” He leads him out, onto the balcony, before realizing what he's done. “You afraid of heights?”

“Normally, no,” Karkat grumbles, staring at a sizable drop to the street below, “But, with you? Oh, you can bet your fucking ass I am.”

“Too fuckin’ bad, dude.” The words seem to hang in the air, as does the ringing of a final bullet, and time slows. A strong shove sends Karkat tumbling from the balcony.

He squeezes his eyes shut, only to realize a few seconds after the fact that he no longer feels the wind rushing past him, on his way down. When his eyes open, he finds himself hovering, facing the ground, about a yard away from impact. The gunshot still hums, low and ominous, in the back of his head. And, as the world around him fails to move, a familiar blond steps in front of him. He reaches out, grabs onto Karkat's hand, and seems to drag him down, free of time and physics. As he moves, time slowly returns to normal. People resume their routine, with a very small number of them even recognizing the commotion that had occurred several stories above them.

As Karkat's position is righted, and his feet touch the ground, Dave hisses out another command, “Go! Keep going! I don't give a fuck  _where_ we go, we just have to get out of here.”

Behind his back, in the rapidly increasing distance, Karkat swears he can hear yelling. Nevertheless, considering what's just happened, he's not going to question it. He ducks down, hides his face as best he can, and follows closely behind Dave, who is roughly shoving his way through the crowd. “What the fuck just happened?”

“A flashstep,” supplies Dave.

“That explains absolutely nothing!”

“Does it look like we've got time for that shit, now, buddy? Something—someone—knows that's happening, and, whatever it is, it's pissed. We've got to get below the radar fast, or we're getting our asses shot out of the sky faster than a dogfight pilot.”

 

Unlike Dave, Kanaya, at the prompting of Rose, has decided to vacate her own home voluntarily. She's gathered all the resources she believes she will need—extra clothes, rations, rudimentary camping supplies, some guns, and some ammo—and contacted Sollux. Despite his hesitancy, he obliged her requests, and has taken up the mantle of the sole runner of Signless Oil, at least for the time being, Her apartment will be guarded by her next door neighbor, an eccentric but capable woman by the name of Nepeta Leijon, and all of her irreplaceable valuables have been deposited safely at the bank.

Now, with her supplies in the bag on her back, and the door to her home firmly locked, she attentively follows the trail of an unassuming black cat.

 _“We'd best get somewhere most would be unaware of. Do you know of any such conspicuous locations, preferably hard to access?”_ The voice isn't audible to anyone beyond Kanaya, yet it's undoubtedly Rose's.

Lacking the ability to reply in such a manner, Kanaya simply speaks aloud. “Well, there's the subway tunnels. The subterranean transport system was never finished, as the English family declared it a lost cause.”

_“Yes, that sounds perfect. Do you have access to it?”_

“There's a hidden entryway at the oil plant. It was discovered during construction, then built over to hide it. We can gain entry through there.”

A few steps ahead. the cat's tail wags. It emits a low purr, somewhat louder than that of the average feline. Its pace slows, until Kanaya has surpassed it. _“Very well. Lead the way.”_


	7. Eleanor Rigby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [**Eleanor Rigby**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuS5NuXRb5Y) by The Beatles (1966)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm honestly not sure why i insist on writing "by the beatles" for the songs since they're all beatles songs right now??? do people even notice the song recs??? do they think i'm just really weird naming my chapters after tangentially related beatles songs? **art has been added to chapter one, if you haven't noticed! :D**

The four bewildered individuals descend, each on their own time and at their own pace, into the bowls of a dark, forgotten world. The walls are made of smooth concrete and stone, and the sconces lining the massive passageways are dark; they’ve never once been lit. The knee-deep water in some areas only hastens the movenent of the overbearing chill of the air to the bones. A singular sigh, or an errant splash, seems to echo endlessly.

Alone. That is what defines this space. Here, one can be utterly and oppressively alone. No one will help, should you fall and be swept up in rushing currents. No aid will come if you misstep, and plummet into an artificial ravine. Yet, from time to time, it seems that the air in the tunnels catches itself just so, and an ominous sigh sweeps through, as if it were air from the belly of whatever beast this labyrinth belongs to.

“This is stupid. This entire fucking thing is stupid. I could be at home, reading a good book, sipping some fucking nice tea, and eating some steamed ham so good that even God himself wouldn’t believe it existed and was available to mere mortals. But, noooo! I’m here. Illegally wading through a flooded, abandoned, useless clusterfuck of a subway tunnel with some absolutely batshit motherfucker, who claims to be the god of time!” Karkat thunders, prying the umpteenth biting nailfish from his now thoroughly destroyed and formerly top-tier expensive silk pajama bottoms. “This is beyond ludicrous! We’ve passed into the territory of absolutely obliterating reality, and now we’re dancing on its fucking gravestone!”

“I’m sure other people absolutely love having you at parties. Pay ten cents, pull his arm, and this here tinkling rage machine will scream at you about absolutely nothin’ for two hours! Marvelous! Come, now, to the World’s Fair, and behold the spectacle!” Dave shoots back, undeterred by his companion’s commentary. “There’s some dry land ahead. Once we get there, I might be able to figure out what to do with the fact that you’re still wandering around in fancy-ass sleepwear.”

“I happen to have spent a whole lot of money on these pajamas, you greasy fuck! Keep your hands off of them.”

“They’re impractical, dude. We have to dump ‘em. Sorry.” Despite the commentary, there’s nary a hint of remorse in Dave’s voice. “I’ll give you a gun, too. I stole one from a shop a while ago.”

“How about you stop stealing shit?”

“The world will thank me later. Or, rather, the world’ll thank _you_ later. These modern folk can’t be too privvy to the whole ‘gods walk among us’ schtick. It’ll go straight to their heads. Then where will we be? We’ll have every random Joe Schmoe off the street coming up and begging me to accelerate the creation of their nuclear weapons.”

“What the literal fuck is a nuclear weapon?”

There’s a pause. There’s a distinct moment of terror, and an almost palpable screech as the gears in Dave’s head slam to a halt. “Forget I said that.”

Karkat wants to ask for more information, but ultimately decides against it. Who is he to deny the whims of a god? Hell, at this point, he's not even sure who he is, period. He's some random fool, who, by pure happenstance, has been drawn into a world of rapid change at the hands of literal deities. Does he even have a reason to be here? Does he have a reason to be following these instructions, these rules?

“God, I'd never know that this place is a subway. More like a sewer to me. Can't tell up from down, or left from right down here. Now, if we had Rose, we'd be fine. Her and her stupid light powers. Cheating, I say. That's fuckin’ cheating. All I get is this stupid gas lamp.”

“That you stole. A gas lamp, that you _fucking stole_ ,” points out Karkat.

For the briefest of moments, Dave turns. He cocks his head to the side, like a confused dog, before shaking it, as if to rid himself of a sneeze. “Whatever. That ain't the point. The point is that we have to figure out where the rest of my immortal pals are, get them woken up, and find English. And, yes, I know that English is your king. Or your president. Or your monarch. Whatever the fuck he is, it's not like it's all peachy and rose colored lenses and chocolates. He's a real bastard. Which makes the second part of this plan kicking his ass off of this mortal coil.”

“I doubt you actually know Lord English,” counters Karkat, his brows furrowing. Some people in Skaia are absolutely loyal to their leader. There's an entire culture built around the benevolent leader, but he, personally, has never fallen for it. Nonetheless, he doubts Dave's story. “If you haven't been awake for over a thousand years, how would you know him?”

Dave laughs. Or, perhaps, ‘laugh’ isn't the right word. It's more of a hoarse snicker. “Easy. He's immortal, too, but not naturally. It's a whole load of steaming, boiling-over-the-pot shit, dude. We don't need to get ourselves into that pit of squealing, greased-up hogs; we're _already_ knee deep in this shit-scented water, you feel?”

There's a moment of understanding, followed by pure and unbridled confusion. “No, but I'm going to just say that I do.”

“Where the fuck do you think we should go?”

This causes Karkat to pause. His brows furrow, and he shakes his head, laughing, “Why would I know? Why the _fuck_ would I know? Why don't _you_ know? You're the supposed deigty, here! You tell me where we're going!”

“Yeah, see, I don't know where people do shit here. I don't know this place. I've been asleep for a thousand years, pal. I got absolutely negative zero percent of an idea what's up around here. You, however, do! So, why don't _you_ tell _me_ where we're going?”

A low growl. A deep sigh. “Fine. Okay. I get it. Let's see... The best place to go, if we're looking for huge goddamned monuments that no one even notices, would be the Gardens District. You can go miles without meeting a single unfortunate fuck wandering around out there. It's used for agriculture and all that shit. Anything you might have eaten has probably been grown there. The landscape is absolutely fucked from all the nonstop farming, so...”

Dave smirks. To Karkat's shock, he sprints forward, through the water, before performing a nimble hop. After this, he hovers in the air. He lounges back, with his hands behind his head, as if there was a sofa beneath him. “Great. That's where we'll be heading.”

“Then, get off your invisible fuckchair?”

“Fair enough.” There's a soft splashing noise, as Dave's feet slowly lower back into the water. Once again, and to Karkat's great relief, he obeys the laws of gravity.

 

Elsewhere, at a different point in the same subway system, two women are also busy wading through the waters. Unlike the pair of men, though, they don't need a light. Or, rather, they already have a light; an orb hovers in the hand of a particular Rose Lalonde. It illuminates a substantial amount of the space around them, even granting glimpses at the graffiti painted on the walls. “Fuck English” seems to be the most prolific complaint.

“As I understand it, the plague has spread. At this rate, it's inevitable for it to reach your district soon. Unfortunately, I can't help this particular issue. That isn't my area. Diseases belong to Jake, the God of Hope. And, to some extent, they fall under the jurisdictions of Jane, Goddess of Life.” Rose, who has shifted into an outfit comprised of a tunic and knee-high boots, pauses. She raises her hand slightly, so as to illuminate some text near the top of the tunnel. “What, exactly, is the Gardens District?”

Kanaya, after tucking some stray hairs behind her ear, and under the green scarf she always wears, responds, “Exactly as it sounds. That's where most of the agriculture happens. We grow Skaia's Hearts there, too. They're very popular in romantic bouquets.” She pauses to look up, at an arrow pointing forward, with the words ‘Garden District’ emblazoned in the center. “If there was anywhere that one could easily hide a monument in plain sight, it would be there.”

“Well, then, I suppose that's where we're heading.”


	8. The Inner Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[The Inner Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zEeZLcJOY-A)** by The Beatles (1968)

The Overseers of Skaia are an enigmatic and authoritarian group. They’re the equivalent of the police, yet a step above them. They are, unlike peace keepers, allowed to visibly wield weapons, and their preferred arsenal happens to be a revolving carbine. Their most well-known feature, however, is their mask, made of reinforced silver, and molded to look like a skull. These cover the top half of their face, and red glass lenses hide their eyes.

These features, combined with their uniforms, make them prime targets for Dave Strider to impersonate. Having found his way out of the subway, using his avian form to traverse smaller passageways, Dave wanders the streets of the Cain District, directly beneath which is the section of subway from which he had escaped. Having quietly taken a spare carbine from an unattended rack of firearms, and with the ability to change his apparel at will, he now masquerades as the highest common authority in Skaia.

He is, as he had been a thousand years ago, a silent observer. His eyes dart from place to place, taking in the sights of the sleeping city. Few wander the streets, but those that do keep at a considerable distance. Not that he’d blame them; he wouldn’t want to mess with someone wearing black robes and a silver skull mask, either.

“Brother of English,” comments a passing monk, clad in faded yellow robes. They bow, and shuffle past.

 _Clearly_ , Dave thinks, _There’s more here than meets the eye. If this is the same English, and there seems to be no indications otherwise, then this entire civilization is about to crumble_...

A wooden cart, drawn by a single mule, and manned by a haggard man, rumbles down the street. Stacked atop its planks are at least a dozen bodies, all wrapped in grey cloth and stinking of decay. “I don’t mean to offend you, sir,” mutters the man behind the reins, “I...”

“Let me see them, for a moment,” Dave says. He’s seen the photos, but he needs to see for himself how bad this is. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.” He offers his best attempt at a reassuring smile before pulling some of his cloak up, wrapping it around his exposed mouth and nostrils.

The cart driver nods, albeit with a perplexed look.

And, after a moment to gather his wits about himself, Dave lifts the nearest sheet. He’s treated to the image of a deformed face, its skin turned a sickly purple in most places, with sizable wart-like growths covering it. The mouth hangs open, revealing rotted black gums, from which most of the teeth have fallen. Patches of hair are gone, yet the general lack of any insects on the body suggests that this death is recent.

“Plague victims, sir,” supplies the cart driver. “You’ll see more of ‘em where that came from, now. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to my duties.”

Lowering the sheet, and stepping back, Dave nods. He watches, brows furrowed, as the cart pulls off, and continues on its path.

There’s something wrong.

He’s not sure what, exactly, it is, but something is very, very wrong with this entire city.

 

There’s no hint that it’s morning in the subway, save for the faintest hint of distant life. Passing cars let forth a low rumble against the solid stone walls.

When Karkat wakes, he’s greeted to the sight of Dave Strider, standing above him, and holding a small paper bag.

“I bought some pastries from aboveground. Shit is getting nasty up there, just F.Y.I. Terrible. Yuck.” Dave shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts, before handing over the aforementioned food. “Don’t worry. It’s not wet or whatever. It kept it in my sylla— My bag.”

Karkat eyes the other man warily, noting that he sees no evidence for Dave owning a bag of any sort. Nonetheless, at this point, he’s hungry enough to disregard these facts. Snatching away the goods, he begins to hungrily scarf down everything he can.

“Lord English is your leader, right?”

“Sure. That’s right.”

“And for how long?”

“This one?” Karkat shrugs. He chews on his bits of food and swallows before continuing, “I don’t know. About ten years. Fuck if I know. I don’t really keep up with that sort of shitfuckery. It’s all just random politics, but the English family has been in power for a while.”

Dave nods. He sits down, atop the cold stone platform, before rubbing the back of his neck. “I see... I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, dude. So, from what I’ve got, we’re beneath the Cain District.”

“Then, assuming my compass is right, the Garden District is next. It’ll be a fucking walk, and I’m not sure where we’d get out of here, but...”

“I’m sure we’ll figure somethin’ out.”

* * *

“Assume that the world is collapsing,” Rose says, matter-of-factly. Her folded hands rest in her lap, and she sits atop a half-carved marble bench, beneath a flickering sign for the Gardens District. “You can save the world, but not as you know it. Would you?”

Kanaya pauses. She considers these words deeply, taking several minutes to think things over before replying with a question of her own, “What, exactly, do you mean when you say that the word will not be my own?”

“Reality will change. The government you know will cease to exist.” Rose shrugs, as if this is a conundrum everyone faces on a regular basis. “Save the world, change the world, I suppose you could say.”

Another pause. After a few more minutes of silence, there comes from Kanaya a slow but confident answer, “I do believe that I _would_ save the world, at least under those circumstances.”

“Good, because that’s exactly what’s happening.” Rose smiles. She pats her traveling companion on the shoulder before looking around. “Are you ready to venture aboveground, or is there something else you wished to examine down here?”

Kanaya shrugs. “No, I don't believe so.”

“Well, then, it's time to return to the world of fresh air, correct?” Rose grins.

And, in spite of herself, Kanaya finds herself mirroring the expression.

* * *

Outside, beneath the night sky and a wide array of stars that, despite being familiar, are nothing like the ones Dave knew from Earth, the air is crisp. There's a sharp, stinging, biting wind. And, as Karkat finally worms his way through the cracks in the crumbling, overgrown brick pathway through the middle of nowhere, he pauses.

“It's so quiet out here,” he mutters.

Dave shrugs. It's no more quiet than the world before its creation. He can still remember the utter nothingness from the beginning, a pure, flat canvas, upon which he and his friends had painted an entire planet. “You've never been this far out before?”

“Nope.” Karkat brushes some dirt off of his shoulders. “I stayed to where I was. I've never gone to the Garden District. It's not even a great place for tourism, since everyone there is just farming. And, really, farming makes for a shitty vacation for most.”

“I assume you're included in that statistic?”

“You fucking assume right,” Karkat grumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there! i'm still working on this one, but i'm kinda out of ideas here. so updates won't be consistent.


	9. The Fool on the Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[The Fool on the Hill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wsRatIMUSu8)** by The Beatles (1967)

It's an odd sight in the depth of a sewer. A raised mound, atop which moss grows, abundant, despite its lack of presence elsewhere in the vicinity.

It's an odd presence. Here, in the middle of a forgotten tunnel, at a dead end, where the construction has been frantically halted, and the half-finished steel struts have begun to deform and warp, the stone is beginning to crack and crumble.

It's an odd noise, a lot like the ringing of a bell, that seems to thrum and echo. To sing, alone, in an empty medieval cathedral might produce the same sort of ambiance.

And, in the back of his head, Dave Strider recalls the words to a song he's long since forgotten, but only now remembers.

But the fool on the hill  
Sees the sun going down,  
And the eyes in his head  
See the world spinning ‘round.

“So, what?” Karkat grumbles. He tugs at his ill-fitting leather boots, which reach up to his knees, despite being designed to only go to the thigh of a rather tall person. “It's a lump. Nothing special.”

Dave shakes his head. Deep in the pit of his very being, there's a sort of strange, resilient sense of awed solemnness. “Listen,” he whispers.

“He never listens to them,  
He knows that they're the fools.  
They don't like him...”

Unbeknownst to the God of Time, his companion doesn't hear the words. No, these words are directed at him, from a force beyond the understanding of a mortal.

“Touch it,” Dave urges.

“God! How about fucking no!? That thing's disgusting.” As if to demonstrate this, Karkat gestures at the patches of sticky-looking white slime, which have settled sporadically atop the otherwise green moss. “You can touch it. Get all the weird spore-borne diseases you want, dumbass! It's not my problem if you die.”

After a moment of thought, Dave sighs. He reaches into his pocket and pulls forth a leather glove. Passing it to the objectionable man, he repeats himself, “Touch the fuckin’ lump.”

A growl and a scowl precede Karkat's abrupt snatching up of the glove. He dons it, breathes deeply, and presses his hand against the stone. Now, he, too, hears it.

“... The fool on the hill  
Sees the sun going down,  
And the eyes in his head  
See the world spinning ‘round.”

Beneath his touch, the stone, itself, bulges and flows, like water. A low sound, like the distant wail of a trumpet, fills the air and echoes within the otherwise empty expanse. Then, there's light. It's blinding and sudden, and its presence coincides with the sudden discarding of every law of nature that Karkat knows. Beneath the moss, the stone ruptures, yet no solid pieces fly out. Instead, it bursts, like a geyser, and begins to spill forth a torrent of crystal clear water. At the center of this growing liquid vortex is a hole, from which an array of waving vines begin to sprout. They converge and tangle, forming a thick, human-sized knot at the center. Then, with a sound not unlike the hiss of a dying flame, they fall away, withered and dead.

Now, standing atop a plain stone slab, which had been concealed beneath the overgrown stone, is a woman. Her skin is a deep, rich, medium tan. Vivid green eyes gleam with excitement, which is mirrored by a wide grin. As if it had been previously tied up, long, straight black hair flows down, until it's level with her knees; strangely, from amidst this tangle, a pair of white dog ears also emerge. As she speaks, her clothing shimmers, and the lights move, until they form the shape of a more appropriate black-and-white adventuring outfit. High boots, atop thick pants, and a warm-looking shirt beneath a leather overcoat. “Oh! Well, that was a refreshing nap,” the woman says, grinning.

Karkat, stumbling back, away from this commotion, gapes at this new individual. “Mother of fuck!” he exclaims, tugging at his hair, “Not again! Not another of you fuckers!”

“Oh! Hello!” The woman's bright grin does nothing to ease Karkat's anxiety. “I'm Jade Harley. I'm guessing it's just about time for me to wake up, isn't it?” She turns, until her gaze falls upon Dave, at which point she lets forth a squeal of excitement. “Dave!” she exclaims, throwing herself at the stunned blond.

As the two hit the ground, with a resounding splash, Dave groans. “I ‘preciate the excitement, Jade, buddy, but can we try and _not_ —” he huffs as he stumbles to his feet. The water dripping from his clothing disappears far faster than it should, and he's dry within about a minute, “—fling ourselves into a literal river of shit backwash?”

“That sounds reasonable.” Jade offers a short, quick bow, with her hands folded in front of her. “So, who's the cutie you've got here?”

Pointedly ignoring Karkat's obvious confusion and bewilderment, Dave commences the introductions. “Karkat, this is Jade, Goddess of Space. Jade, Goddess of Space, this is Karkat, some dumbass oil tycoon who just happened to smash open my hidey hole. Say hello!”

“What the literal _fuck_ is happening!?”

“Nice to meet you, Karkat.” There's a pause, during which Jade rubs her chin. “That's a familiar name... Not sure why.”

“Might've been one of your old furry buddies,” shrugs Dave.

“Mm. Possibly.”

“Look, this is a touching fucking reunion and all, but I'm still over here, confused out of my goddamned mind, and just about ready to just shove my head into this shitty creek right here until I don't have to put up with this conga line of absolute dipshit insanity. Do I get to understand anything that's happening here, or am I _once again_ being unceremoniously handed a dead-as-fuck flashbulb and thrown into a pit of snarling, rabid barkbeasts?”

Another pause.

Eventually, Dave breaks the silence with a snort of laughter. “Dude, you're a fuckin’ goldmine. I need all of that on a shirt.”

“You fucking soggy peanut! I'm not trying to be funny, I'm trying to figure out what in the name of all the shit on this disgusting planet I've gotten myself into.” As he speaks, Karkat makes a swipe at Dave's head.

The attack is dodged easily. “Oh, shit, boy! We've got a pissed kid in aisle whatever!”

(Jade, at this point, wanders off. She's seen enough bickering between these two men, and she feels compelled to find a way out of this tunnel. Not that she necessarily needs to find it. She can simply manipulate the world around her to suit her needs. In fact, once she finds a suitable spot, that's exactly what she begins doing. From the stone in front of her, she effortlessly carves stairs, which she begins to stack, so that she can ascend to what she can only assume will be the surface.)

“You're a fucking douchelord! Go fuck yourself with a rusty pitchfork, Strider!” Another punch.

Another dodge, followed by a simpering smirk. “Aw, c'mon, dude, are you even trying?”

“Fuck! You!” Each word is punctuated by an increasingly fruitless attempt to hit the God of Time.

Two more sidesteps follow. Then, just before Dave can say another word, he feels it. Caught offguard, he finds himself on the receiving end of a surprisingly strong uppercut to the jaw. He stumbles back, and a metallic taste fills his mouth. There's a stinging place on the side of his tongue, from which he feels warm blood leaking. Spitting out this unwanted substance, he shakes his head. “Whoo-ee! You sure are strong, dude! That one was pretty fuckin’ good. Keep sparring like that, and you could make it in street fighting! In fact—!” Before he can finish, Dave Strider finds himself being pinned against the stone wall of the dilapidated subway. A huff of air is forced from his lungs by a punch to the gut, and a strong grip holds him aloft by the front of his vest.

“I'm _not_ your fucking buddy, and I'm _not_ your fucking pal. Got it? I cannot fucking stand you, you insufferable doucheprick. I'm only here because I've been forced. So, why don't you shut the fuck up, and we both just find out where the new goddess has gone off to, huh?” There's a palpable edge to Karkat's words, and a low, rumbling sense of urgency to his voice. Yet, that's not what Dave finds himself clinging to. No, what interests Dave is that, in the darkness, he sees something different. He sees a different being, one with grey skin, wiry hair, and nubby orange horns, standing in front of him. When teeth are bared, they're visible pointed. Where eyes should be white, they're yellow. Then, as quickly as this peculiar sight began, it ends, and Karkat adds a final statement to conclude his commentary, “When this is all done, I hope I never fucking see you again.”

When the grip releases, Dave scrambles to find his footing against slick, wet stone. At the same time, he closes his eyes, and reaches out...

_“Hey, Rose... How many people went through the door at the end of the game?”_

After what seems like forever, there's a reply. _“Eight of us, I believe. Although, now that you've asked me, there does seem to be something missing. Or, perhaps, someone? I'll have to mull this one over a bit more before I can give a conclusive response.”_

Still breathless, dumbfounded, and, perhaps, inexplicably a bit aroused by what's just happened, Dave nods to himself. _“Yeah. Think ‘bout it and get back to me, okay?”_

_“Will do.”_

Now, after taking a moment to recover, Dave stumbles forward, into the darkness. It dawns upon him that Karkat is nowhere to be seen, though he can hear the distant half-splashing half-squelching of footsteps. He follows the noise and tucks what he'd seen into the back of his mind for later consideration.

 

The freshly-minted trio continues, in silence, for several hours. They ascend, up the stairs constructed by Jade, with a sense of purpose.

The air around them is thick and damp, despite the time of year. Or, perhaps, that's a sensation entirely unique to Dave. Perhaps, that's his own problem, and it's not the concern of anyone else in his party.

“We're pretty deep down, aren't we?” When Jade speaks, her voice is such that it's almost a song. The melodious tones echo up and down the narrow and ever-expanding stairwell. “Not that I guess it really matters... Dave, do you know where Rose is?”

Still playing a juvenile game of avoiding Karkat's gaze and refusing to speak to the other man, Dave shrugs. “Nah. Ain't got a clue. She's somewhere with a girl, named Kanaya. Last I heard, they were up top, livin’ it the fuck up in the middle of a corn field. Hm. Now that I'm thinkin’ ‘bout it, a whole ear of corn sure does sound like a really dope thing to have. In my hands. Right now.”

Jade laughs. “Talkative as ever, I see. So, fill me in. What've we missed?”

This is the question Dave was waiting for. If ever there was an inquiry to spawn a conversation that has absolutely nothing to do with Karkat, it's this. A long whistle escapes him, as does a faint hint of a grin. “Oh, shit. Jade, girl, we've got _so_ much to catch up on. I mean, look at this. We went to bed when they were inventing the wheel, and now we're stuck in a goddamned subway tunnel. You talk about some fuckin’ advancement...” And, with that, Dave begins his long, planned-out exposition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback are always welcome! uwu


	10. The Night Before

In the cool breeze of mid-winter, Rose Lalonde and Kanaya Maryam stand. They’re in the middle of a field of tall grass, the ground beneath their feet yet to be cultivated, yet its springiness belays its agricultural past. The smell of wet earth hangs in the air, and flakes of frost sting exposed skin, like tiny bits of metal. As far as the eye can see, it's flat earth and waving grains. The only shelter available is an old stone lean-to, likely a remnant of some long-forgotten society. Against the surface, Rose can see scratch marks, likely left by basic metal tools.

“It seems that my brother has located another of the gods. The Goddess of Space has woken; now only five remain.”

Warming her hands before a small fire, Kanaya cocks her head to the side. “Five, and then what?”

“We'll all reach our full potential. All of our powers will be restored to their maximum potency, and we'll be ready to take on whatever has thrown the world out of balance.” Rose sighs, and her breath rises as a faint cloud in the air. “See, as gods, our job is to maintain balance. When we created this world, it was the perfect balance. There was good, and there was bad, but enough that the world remained interesting for its inhabitants. Too much of one thing, and boredom sets in.”

“I see. And your goal now is to restore the balance, which I assume will also right whatever is wrong with the world.”

Rose takes a moment to ponder this question. Obviously, this won't fix everything. People still have free will; so long as free will exists, even the most balanced world will have evil. As such, it's not exactly a solution, so much as a treatment. “No. The world will still be fraught with discord and strife, but it'll once again be equal. Without the balance, as it should be, the world descends into chaos. As it stands, there's too much darkness in your world. It's leading to a literal plague. Famine. Disease. Pestilence. The last step will be war.”

To illustrate this, Rose holds her hands out, palms up, fingers slightly bent. Above her palms, light converges, like a hologram, to form an image of the world, Earth C. Half of the world is highlighted in orange, while the other half is blue. “Your world, this world that we're on, should look like this, but, right now...” The image shifts. The blue overtakes the orange. “This is happening. Evil is taking root. It's had time to incubate, and, now, it's overpowering the very core of this planet. Or, perhaps, it's not evil; it's unrest. There's a disproportionate amount of hatred and greed, which means that the world, itself, is falling ill. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes. I understand.” Kanaya nods. “My question, then, is what _will_ happen?”

As Rose lowers her hands, the lights fade. Once again, the women are in darkness, broken only by the flickering of the small fire before them. “The world will return to as it should be. It'll be like filling a cavity, or removing an unpleasant growth. There may still be lingering symptoms, but the world will be, as a whole, better. It'll take time, but, eventually, everything will once again be in harmony.”

* * *

In a hollowed-out cavern, at the top of a long stairwell, is a tiny camp. Basic living spaces have been carved out of the solid stone, though no effort has been exerted. In fact, at the center of all this development, is the source. Jade Harley sits before a pleasant little hearth, holding over it a pair of recently-skewered rats. As she rotates the rodents over the flame, she hums a tune. It's a song that both she and Dave know, but Karkat has never heard it before.

“Why are you even bothering to fix this fucking mess of a dinner?” Karkat growls, tangling his fingers in his hair. “I'm the only one who needs to eat, aren't I?”

Dave shrugs then returns to absentmindedly whittling away at a small chunk of wood.

Jade, meanwhile, smiles, as she so often does. “That's right, but it wouldn't do any of us much good for you to die of starvation, would it?”

With a look of pure disgust, and a pointed refusal to even look at the cooking meat, Karkat rolls his eyes. He folds his arms behind his head and leans back, against the cold stone, crossing his legs in front of him. “We can't be that far from the surface, you know. Why feed me this fetid shit when we can just skip a night?”

“You don't eat, you don't feel great,” Dave says, almost singing, “You've gotta' be in top form, dude. The world ain't going to be saved by a half-starved oil tycoon, now, is it?” He pauses, squints at his handwork, and blows off a considerable cloud of wood dust, though he keeps it away from the open fire.

And, as soon as this statement has been made, Jade nods, in eager agreement, “He's right! You have to be on top of things to save the world.” She removes the now-cooked meat, then hands over the skewer. “Eat up.”

“Neither of you bastards is taking ‘no’ for an answer, huh?”

“Nope,” both gods respond, in unison.

Then, from Dave, comes further commentary. The flickering fire lights his face, and dancing shadows highlight a smirk as mysterious as it is annoying. “I wonder exactly how much bullshit I can claim before you call me out on it.”

Jade pouts. “Aw, now, that’s not fair, Dave! At least tell him true bullshit!”

“You’re right.”

 “I’m both intrigued and disgusted by this notion.” Karkat crosses his arms and furrows his brows. His shoulders tense, yet his posture seems to paradoxically loosen. “Fine. By all means, let this supposed gospel truth spew from your fuck-awful gaping maw.”

Dave’s smirk only grows as he takes Karkat up on the offer. “Okay. Let’s start with something easy. I knew your name before you said it.”

“You’re a god. I wouldn’t be fucking surprised. What’s your next, supposedly earth-shattering claim?”

“I knew your name because we knew each other,” continues Dave, keeping a keen eye on his subject. He knows he can’t go too in depth about this. Not yet. But, he needs to know how deep he can go. “Actually, we dated.”

There’s a flicker of recognition, but it fades before it can begin to settle. Karkat let’s forth a deep, harsh laugh. “You’re fucking shutting me! You? Me? Dating!? God, I’d never fucking stoop so low. Maybe I was desperate. Not that I actually believe that convoluted drivel you’ve just leaked into the air, like a broken gas pipe.”

“No, really, we dated, dude. We chummed it up on a meteor, hurtling through space. You, me, and some other chumps, all stuck on a fuckin’ rock in space.”

Karkat remains unconvinced, though he does take a few seconds before responding. “Whatever. That’s an absolutely incredible lie you’ve got there. I’ll just go back to my believable world, where things make some sort of tiny hint of fucking sense.”

“Fair enough.” Dave shrugs. Then, seeing little else to do, he falls silent. 


	11. Werewolves of London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **[Werewolves of London](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iDpYBT0XyvA)** by Warren Zevon (1978)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not dead yet! still slowly working on this one, but i ran out of beatles songs.

Snow falls through a newly opened hole in the earth, beneath which a small group has gathered. They stare upward, to the grey clouds overhead, and breathe in the fresh air.

“Fucking finally!” Karkat declares, scrambling out of the dark underground dungeon he's inhabited for the past half a week. “I'm  _never_ doing that again. You couldn't pay me enough to go back down there.”

Following his lead, Jade steps out, onto the frozen earth, before looking around. “I have to agree. That sucked.” As she speaks, her clothes erupt into light. After a few seconds, as the glowing subsides, she's wearing a thick coat and pants, replacing her flowing robes from before. “Hopefully we don't have to go back down there.”

Dave is the last to emerge. He clambers out of the hole with the grace of a dying cat, and his expression is nothing short of perplexed. “I don't know. I kinda liked it down there. It was homey.”

“Not everyone grew up in a fucking cave at the fringes of human decency, Strider,” growls Karkat, his brows furrowed more than anyone would ever believe they can be be. “Speak for your fucking self, but this? The fresh air!? Wonderful. I'll hack up a lung from its purity. And it doesn't smell like actual ass.”

“I mean,” Jade helpfully points out, “We  _were_ in sewage down there.”

“My point exactly.” Karkat folds his arms across his chest and wanders off, a few strides ahead of the rest of the group.

Behind him, Dave and Jade continue their discussion, wholly unconcerned with the presence of their mortal companion.

“So, you don't remember jack shit about any of the shrines, either, huh?” There's laughter in Dave's voice, but frustration is etched on his features. “Obviously, the next person I'd like to find is John, y'know. My old homie's probably getting claustrophobic, stuck inside some sort of shitty rock slab. I mean, it's not like we were conscious the entire time. I sure know I wasn't, but I was when someone got near me. Ain't that wild? We could be super close to him, and we wouldn't know it. Like—”

“Shush!” Jade freezes. The fluffy ears, nestled amidst her hair, twitch. A small smile works its way onto her face. Then, she laughs. “Never mind. I thought I heard John, but it was just the wind.”

“Oh. Ha ha. A joke so amazing I failed to laugh.” In spite of his words, Dave grins. He rolls his eyes, though he knows no one can see it. He begins to speak again, only to hear another voice, this one disembodied, in the back of his mind.

_“Has your group emerged from the tepid waters of the sewer yet? Or, rather, I suppose it was the subway. I've made attempt to contact you before now, and you have failed, each and every time, to respond. I kindly request that you answer me.”_

Dave responds with another eye-roll. He holds up one finger in Jade's direction, indicating that he's a bit tied up, before responding.  _“Dear sister, have you maybe thought that I was a little bit fuckin’ busy? We're out of there, and we're now looking for John. As I'm sure you are. So, what did you want to say?”_

_“Well, as we both know, Kanaya cannot awaken other gods. We need to reconvene, so that Karkat can unlock any gods we might find. Kanaya has woven a length of makeshift fabric from some of the underbrush, and we are currently flying it above our location. We also have a fire going, so that should help you locate us. Tonight, I will raise a flare. Look to the skies, Dave, and you'd better be at my location within the next two days.”_

A snort of laughter slips past Dave's defenses. _“Or what?”_

_“Do you enjoy having ten functional fingers?”_

The laughter immediately ceases, and the color drains from Dave's face. He knows his sister well, and he knows she'll follow through on her promises. It doesn't matter that they're technical siblings; if she wants something done, it  _will_ be done.  _“Understood.”_

* * *

Later that night, long after most mortals have fallen asleep, Dave Strider does exactly as he was told. He looks up, to stars he still hasn’t adjusted to seeing, whose constellations remain as unfamiliar to him as the day he first set eyes upon them. And, against the backdrop of a moon a bit larger than the one he remembers, back home, in a different time and place entirely, he sees it. The flare-like bulb, burning bright gold, snakes its way upwards. Then, in a shower of brilliant, spiraling tails, it bursts.

“Figures that even her distress signals are so pretty, huh?” Jade smirks.

Dave returns the expression. “O’ course it’d be. What else’re we supposed to expect from Rose ‘everything must be as perfect as possible’ Lalonde?” A snort of laughter, followed by a drag from a cigarette that has never once fizzled out. “Don’t it figure that we’re stuck fighting this stupid green fucker again?”

“Well, you’re still smoking.” Jade’s voice is dripping with disapproval. “And it still smells terrible.”

“Ain’t much else to do as a god, now, is there?” Another drag. “At least... there wasn’t much back then.”

“True...” Jade sighs. It’s obvious enough that this won’t be going anywhere, so she falls silent.

Dave, as he does, keeps talking, “Looks like we’re heading northwest. If I remember right, we’ll be crossing the Nile River. Probably could’ve come up with a more original name, but it _was_  our first river.” The end of the cigarette begins to dull. Once the heat has dissipated, Dave buries it back in his pocket. “Not that it’s still there. For all we know, they’ve filled it in.”

“Probably.” Jade is less concerned about this development than her companion. She offers a grin and a snicker. “So, what? We get a move on in the morning, and walk as far as this guy can handle?”

“That’s the plan, ‘less you’ve got a better one.” Dave shrugs. He folds his hands behind his head and falls back, into dew-dusted grass. The smell reminds him of Earth. Or, rather, of the Earth he knew.

“Well, I can’t really make a vehicle... that’s more Dirk’s area. So, nope! I don’t have any tricks this time!”

“Good thing we don’t get tired, then, huh?” a dry laugh punctuates this. “If we see a horse, we can probably comandeer that.”

“Aw! We could at least leave a note...”

“Just leave them some gold. We don’t need them knowing we’re back.”

Jade nods. “Fair enough.”


	12. Hooked on a Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [**Hooked on a Feeling**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NrI-UBIB8Jk), by Blue Suede, 1973

The Nile River serves as Dave’s primary point of reference. He designed it, so it’s one of the few features on this planet that he can distinctly remember. It’s meandering and, for the most part, calm. From what he can see, it seems as if the entire thing has been left mostly intact. Small channels branch out from it, now, serving as thin irrigation lines. Some bends have been nudged into new configurations, and the obvious penis he drew into the earth has been reshaped into a mere half a penis, which is a rather sore development.

“For all your talk about the world ending, I don’t see any fucking evidence of it. Look around you, Strider,” Karkat grumbles, gesturing vaguely to the gently swaying walls of grain surrounding him, “Everything looks normal as fuck.”

Dave, having seen the quarantine tents for himself, knows this isn’t true. He also knows that Karkat won’t take his answer at face value. So, he shrugs, and he answers in his usual monotone, “I promise, it’s coming. It ain’t here. Not yet. Farming districts are always the last to get hit. Isolation and all that, y’know.” He buries his hands in his pocket, drawing from his left a soft microfiber cloth. As he walks, he removes his shades, replacing them only after he’s wiped off some fresh smudges.

“Where are we even going?” Karkat asks.

“We’re meeting Rose and Kanaya!” Jade answers. Her disposition is as sunny as usual, and there’s plenty of pep in her colloquial step. “Right, Dave?”

“Mhm.” Another shrug, as if to physically cast aside the comment, preceded a somewhat hesitant response, “We should be getting close.”

“You said that two days ago, you brick-boning fucklord.”

“We’re following a flare in the sky. It ain’t exactly a super precise science, dude.”

“Theoretically, it could be, but I’d need some measurements. If we had those, I could do a few quick calculations!”

“And we don’t fucking have any measurements, now, do we!? We’re just up diarrhea shit creek without any modicum of a paddle, huh?” As his tirade continues, Karkat storms forwards, pushing several years ahead of the feast of the group. “‘I’m sure we’re almost there’ my ass. We’ll be well and truly dead before we’re even in spitting distance, and that’s assuming we have a world record spitter in our ranks.”

Unwilling to feed into Karkat’s somewhat justifiable disgruntlement, Dave smirks. “I mean, I’m told I can spit pretty fuckin’ far.”

“Not the point, Strider,” Karkat growls.

“I can attest to Dave's claim, actually,” Jade offers.

Karkat responds with a low growl. He lowers his head, buries his hands in his pockets, and trudges onward. Clearly, there's no point in reasoning with these people. He might as well go bang his own head repeatedly into the sharpest wall corner possible, because that's about as productive as this.

Of course, that would be far too easy. A few seconds after he's sure he's put enough distance between himself and the two gods, he hears a soft pop. Dave, hovering about two feet from the ground, in a reclined position, follows alongside him. There's a wide, cocky grin on this face, as if to hammer home that he's won this interaction. “So, what's happening?”

“What's happening?” Karkat parrots, his brows furrowed, “What's fucking happening is exactly what it looks like. I'm trying to get some fucking alone time, and I'm being rudely harassed by some floating douchebag. Clearly, this is all just some bullshit ploy to get me to talk to you, though, so I guess I have to resign myself to this reality. What is fucking up, Strider?”

“Hm.” The low hum seems to hang in the air, forming a sort of strange aura of sound around the god. He runs his fingers through his hair and adjusts his shades, both at the same time, before shrugging. “Not much, dude. Guess I'm just floatin’ here, next to ya, doin’ nothing in real particular, huh? Ain't no big thing.” There's a momentary pause, during which he folds his hands behind his head, before his voice once again breaks the welcome silence. “Yup. That's just ‘bout all that's happening for me.”

“Wonderful,” mutters Karkat.

Jade, in return, also appears. She seems to have the common sense to walk, rather than hovering in the air like some sort of asshole-in-repose. “What about you, Karkat?”

“Do you actually care?”

“Of course,” says Jade.

“Sure,” comes Dave's simultaneous reply.

A roll of his eyes precedes Karkat's response. “Guess I"m just here, with you fuckers, trying to figure out where that other god—”

“Rose,” Dave supplies.

“Yeah,” says Karkat, ”We're looking for her, right? Do we have any fucking clue where we're actually going, or are we just going to wander around with no discernible rhyme or reason?” He looks up, to the sky, and considers the passing clouds. He takes note of their coloration and shape; it'll be raining soon, and it won't be a light shower. “First, we should look for somewhere to stay.”

“Got it.” With a wave of her hand, Jade reforms the earth. The dirt rises, forming a solid clay dome, within which there's plenty of space inside for all of them. She's even taken the liberty of summoning some cots, made of soft greens, which occupy the space. “There we go.”

As if on cue, rain begins to fall.

Dave ushers everyone inside.

Once everyone is under the dome, Jade waves her hand again. The ground at the entrance rises, until the space is closed off.

Now, in a small bubble, safe from the elements, but not safe from his own thoughts, Karkat Vantas finds himself stuck with the two people he'd rather not be trapped with. He's preparing to say more, to ask the two why he's so damned important, when he's struck by a sudden chill. As he shivers, he sneezes.

Dave, in return, lets forth a snort of laughter. “What, you got the plague, now, too?”

“Of course not, you empty-skulled fuckwit. I just sneezed.” Noting that Dave is trying to close the space between them, Karkat shies away. He wraps his coat around his shoulders. “Fuck off. This is my personal bubble,” he draws an imaginary line in space, forming a radius of about a foot around him, “And I want your shit-mongering bullshit nowhere near it.”

Dave raises his hands in the air, as if to surrender, before nodding. “Damn, man, duly fuckin’ noted.”

Jade snickers.

“Just so you know, if you _do_ have the plague, we should be able to cure it,” says Dave.

“Oh, that's just abso-fucking-lutely lovely, I'll hold my—”

Before Karkat can finish, Dave once again speaks up, as if he'd forgotten to say something more, something important. “ _WELL_ ,” he elongates the vowel, “Not us, exactly. _We_ ,” he gestures between himself and Jade, “Can't do it. We'd need to find Jane, Goddess of Life. _She_ can do it. In fact, she'd be more than happy t’ do it, ‘course we need to find her first.”

Now, Karkat lets it fly. Everything he's been holding in comes out, in one massive, torrential flood of profanities and shouts, “Well, gee-fucking-whiz. I never would've guessed that goddamned brain-boning fact. God, fuck me up the ass with these amazing, ground-breaking statements. I'd just love to hear more. Tell it to me. Let all that steaming, feculent shit stream straight from your wagging maw and into my ready ear.”

Unbeknownst to Karkat, Jade is hiding a snicker.

Dave, meanwhile, offers a vague peace sign. Then, without another word, he disappears.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

“Oh, it's just a little meme from our Earth.” Jade smiles. “He'll be back, at some point. Don't worry about it. For now, it'll be best if we sleep. Or, I guess, it'd be better if you sleep. I don't need to sleep.” She shrugs.

Karkat, with another roll of his eyes, folds his arms across his chest. He lays down, on his side, and curls up. Right now, he's still not sure how much of this is real. He knows what's happening, and he knows it's _probably_ real, but the situation, as a whole, is just too much. How is he, a bungling oil tycoon, supposed to do anything to save the world? He can barely keep his own world from falling apart.

“Hey, if it helps, you're doing really great.” Out of the corner of his eye, Karkat can see Jade giving him a thumbs up. “Anyhow, good night, Karkat. I'll see you in the morning, right?”

“Not like I have anywhere else to go to, right?”

“Exactly!” When Jade responds, she offers a wide smile.

And, somehow, that smile manages to calm Karkat down. At the very least, it keeps the burning anxiety within him from keeping him up all night.


	13. Hotel California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [**Hotel California**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNyK6EcHlzM) by The Eagles (1977)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who the epilogue revived? me

As of right now, Dave Strider has absolutely no idea whether or not this entire plan is going to work. He stands—arms crossed, foot tapping, shades askew—above the hastily scrawled image in the dirt at his feet. It looks a lot like a football play, but it's not. In fact, it's less of a play, and more of an abstract representation of his wildly running thoughts. “So, I'll say it again,” he drawls, “We ain't got a fuckin’ hope of beating this bastard. None. Zippo. We're absolutely and irrevocably fucked.”

“Clearly, we do. Why else would we do this? There's no point in doing all of this shit for nothing,” Jade says, always bright and cheerful.

Dave remains unconvinced. He shakes his head and turns, looking briefly to Karkat's sleeping form, before shrugging. “Whatever. We should be about two more days of travel from Rose. At least, that's what I'm guessing. Birds fly at a different speed than humans walk, y'know?”

“I guess?” Jade shrugs.

“I don't actually remember where anyone was set up, do you? I mean, we basically found Rose because she knew where she was, but I think she's the last one with the common sense for that. Let's be fuckin’ real, all of our pals have the collective common sense of a peanut. And that's definitely meant to be ironic, seeing as John and Jake would both die if they ate a peanut.” A low sigh, followed by a raised brow. Again, Dave shrugs, as he's been doing a lot, lately. “Welcome to fuckin’ Skyrim, kids. You want to try and explore the goddamned wilderness with nothing but some shitty sword and whatever clothes you pulled off some random corpse?”

“What's Skyrim?”

There's a long pause, during which Dave stares blankly into the distance. It's a moment of forced drama, which ends only when Dave covers his face with is hands. “It's a video game, Jade. Just forget I said it. We're... uh... What time is it?”

“About three?”

“And you know that shit just from looking at the moon? The rotation ain't even the same as it was back home. How the fuck do you even understand it!?”

“Guess it's just how I spent my time on the planet. I mean, what did you do? From what I remember, you went around dropping some hot beats on anyone who'd listen.” With another skyward glance, Jade offers a serene smile. “The stars in this universe are pretty nice, though.”

“Yeah, that sort of shit ain't my type of jam, if you catch my drift.”

“Understood.”

More silence. Having discussed the issue at hand, the two gods slowly drift apart. Jade occupies herself with tending to the fire, while Dave wanders off, alone, to survey the countryside.

* * *

As she rests beneath the slowly blooming branches of some unknown tree, whose outwards appearance resembles that of a gnarled oak, she's reminded of something. She's unsure of when this something is. In fact, she doesn't even known _where_ this something takes place, but she can distinctly recall kissing a person—or, rather, a humanoid female, with glowing grey skin, in a drunken stupor. There's passion in that memory, a vibrant energy that courses through her veins, and that lingers even after the recollection has faded.

A name hangs at the tip of her tongue. Kanaya. Obviously, she knows this name; the woman who possesses it is literally right next to her. But, what does it mean?

* * *

“This?” Karkat gestures wildly around himself, as if trying to rid himself of a hoard of pesky bugs, as he continues, “Whatever the actual, literal _bullshit_ this entire affair is? Yeah, I hate it. I want it to be perfectly and irrefutably clear that I absolutely hate it.”

Jade smirks, which only serves to fan the flames inside Karkat. “What, specifically, do you hate?”

“Oh, I don't _fucking know_. Maybe the part where this blond douchecanoe grabbed me and ripped me from my lovely, warm, cozy little life and threw me into some sort of hollow echo of it? Maybe the part where I've spent the past two weeks pissing in random corners and bushes, like some sort of feral hobo!? Or, _maybe_ , it's the part where I've been put on forced leave by my own goddamned boss, because she's in huge lesbian cahoots with the blond douche's sister!?” Teeth are bared, and Karkat tangles his fingers in his hair. “Look, everything about this is just fucking wrong. Why am I even trusting either of you two?”

“For starters, most random fuckos you'd meet on the street can't float,” Dave counters. He, too, is smirking, much to Karkat's disdain. And, as if to hammer this entire point home, he lifts his feet into the air and floats, as if laying on a couch, and continues down the path, all while hovering in the air. “Besides, would you distrust this gorgeous face?”

“Absolutely.” There's not drop of hesitation in Karkat's voice. “Just so you know, I don't trust you _at all_. When all of this bullshit is done, you can scramble right on back to whatever sort of bullshit you do, and I'll go back to living my damned life.”

“I mean, you can get some sick perks from all of this. I could make you an immortal fucker. Give you all the money you want. How does that sound?”

“Technically, you're not supposed to,” Jade whispers, though her voice isn't all that soft.

“Absolutely not. Anything that involves me putting up with any more of you than I am contractually obligated to is out of the question.” With this said, Karkat buries his hands in his pockets and hastens his pace, so that he remains about a yard ahead of Dave and Jade.

“Whatever you want, bro,” Dave calls, shrugging.

* * *

After another day of travel, the group finally reconvenes. Pleasantries and not-so-pleasantries are exchanged, and the serious discussion begins. The first order of business is the odd dome, atop which both Rose and Kanaya have been camping out on for the past few days. Beneath the grass and dirt, there's solid, smooth stone. It's not marble, but the symbols carved into point to it being unnatural. By now, these markings have faded. Time has worn them smooth, and it's impossible for anyone in the group to even hope to parse them.

One thing is certain, though, and Dave is the first to say what everyone is thinking. “There's something down there. You want to do the honors, or can I do it?” he addresses the question to Rose.

And, with no thought whatsoever, she shakes her head, “You're obviously invested in this to an odd, unhealthy level. Go for it, Dave.”

A smirk is followed by the distinctive noise of a blade being drawn from its sheath. Metal is plunged smoothly into stone, and all eyes turn to Karkat.

With a roll of his eyes, the man rehashes what he'd done before. He draws the blade from the stone, and the area is cast in a bright light.

By the time the light has faded, a new figure stands before the group. A man, this time, with a build and facial structure similar to Dave's. His hair is a bit neater, his skin, tanner, and his shades, pointier. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he grumbles.

“Well, if it ain't my fuckin’ Dad,” Dave counters. His face is as blank as ever, but his voice is equal parts jovial and oddly serious. “Welcome back. Guess we don't need introductions again, right?”

“For that guy, maybe,” the other man responds, pointing at Karkat.

Before anything more can be said, Jade answers, “Karkat, meet Dirk, God of Heart and patron of technological advancement. Dirk, meet Karkat—”

“Some oil tycoon schmuck we pulled off the street like a porridge-chasing orphan,” Dave supplies.

The two men awkwardly shake hands, then the group forms a haphazard circle.

“Well, I guess I remembered wrong. We have absolutely no clue where anyone is. Sorry ‘bout that,” Dave mumbles.

Rose shrugs. “Fair enough. Kanaya, did you meet Dirk?”

“I suppose I have now, yes,” comes the reply.

There's a unified, emotionless hum of affirmation from all.

Then, Karkat speaks, asking what's at the forefront of everyone's minds, “So, what the fuck are we supposed to do, now?”


	14. Free Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [**Free Bird**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0W1v0kOELA) by Lynyrd Skynyrd (1973)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm playing a game of "pick and choose what you want is canon from the epilogue" and "dirk being an asshole" was not one of those things

“So, I assume that all of this is because—” Dirk begins.

Rose finishes, “English is back.”

“Yeah,” Dave shrugs. He tosses a broken stick back and forth between his hands. “Pretty much. Apparently, not actually defeating the bastard was a kinda bad idea?” A shrug is followed by the sound of a crunch, then a spit. “I honestly have no idea why I bit into this fuckin’ stick. Dumb idea.”

Everyone in the party stares, blank-faced but judgmental, at Dave.

“I'm not related to him,” declares Rose, as she raises her hands into the air, ”I absolutely have no genetic relationship to this man. I don't even know who he is.”

“I'm sure that's what we all think,” counters Karkat.

“We've all known that, bro,” Dirk mutters. “What I'm getting from all this brotification is that we're the only ones with any sort of clue that the world is about to get beaten twelve ways to hell with a stick bigger than any caveman's rock club.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” Dave laughs. He folds his arms and leans back in the chair, summoned by Jade out of the earth, before propping his feet up on a seemingly invisible table. (It is beyond Karkat's ability to understand why, exactly, he feels the need to make such flagrant displays of his godhood. All he knows is that it annoys him deeply.) “Shit's gone off the deep end, like the whack end of some sort of really, really long story, and that's where we are. So, you're in, right?”

“I don't have the option to refuse, now, do I?” asks Dirk.

“Really?” Rose grins, ”No. You don't. Which means that you _are_ in, as we have all decided. Your first order of business is telling us where Jake is.”

“I have no idea. We both kept one-upping each other for the best spot, and the last I remembered, this place was a pretty dope little mini-valley. If I had to guess, Jake's somewhere that's the opposite from that.”

Dave sighs. He shakes his head, coincidentally in unison with Jade, before loudly tutting. “Well, that makes two people with no clue where anyone is.”

“Considering how many fucking times you got us lost, I'd assume you have the spatial awareness of a dead cat,” Karkat hisses.

Dave grins. “Guilty as charged.”

A few feet away, Rose buries her face in her hands. “This is going absolutely nowhere...”

* * *

Elsewhere, at the top of a cold mountain, one that looks a lot like a penis if you look at it _just right_ , is a buried tomb. Within this tomb, lost in his own little world, is a man. Let's call him John Egbert. At this current moment, he's floating in what amounts to basically an abyss. He has been in such a mental darkness for many, many years, but it is only now that he has woken up! He sits down, in the inky blackness. He's not entirely sure how this is possible, only that it is.

 _“Are you getting through to him?”_ The voice is familiar, but distant, as if he's hearing it underwater.

 _“Shut up, Dave, you're going to confuse him.”_ Another voice. A name springs to mind: Rose.

 _“Just so we're both on the same page, I don't know what's happening. Why do I have to be involved?”_ This voice is unfamiliar.

Then, there's another. Dirk. _“Because you're the only bro who can do this. You're the one fate chose, so you gotta roll with it. I think there's a connection.”_

Considering how lonely being stuck in a void of absolute nothingness is, John reacts to such communication. He's not sure if it's real, nor is he sure that his message is received, but it makes him feel better just to speak. “Hey, if anyone is listening, I'm on Dick Mountain. I think. That's the last thing I remember.”

 _“Oh!”_ This voice seems to belong to the first man, Dave, _“Yeah. Making that was hilarious.”_

 _“Yeah, I never needed to know that, thank you,”_ the stranger says. It sounds as if even more is said, but the voice fades before John can hear much more.

Once again alone in the void, John groans. He slumps against an invisible wall and considers how much time he's wasted in the past few years. When he could have been with friends, what was he doing? And, now, that he's all alone, what is he doing? What's the damned difference?

Nothing, that's what.

* * *

Karkat Vantas sits at the edge of a tiny stream. Now that he looks at it, though, it's less of a stream, and more of a steady stream of murky water, akin to piss, which trickles tediously down a grassy slope. Is it a stream? Probably not. It's probably just a coincidental flow of water, but it's vaguely nice to look at. It distracts him enough for him to not realize Kanaya is approaching until she speaks.

“Just heard from Sollux. He's shut down the oil plant. Too many workers were calling out sick. They're rationing oil, sending it exclusively to the higher up districts and whatnot. I suppose the plague has finally hit out district.” She folds her hands gracefully, resting them atop her knee. “Of course, I fully expect that he'll be perfectly fine handling things on his own, don't you think?”

“Oh, I bet he will,” Karkat responds. He reaches into the pocket of his tattered shirt, pulls out a cigar, and lights it. He presses it between his lips and inhales. “Sollux is a smart guy, for as much shit as I throw at him. Why're you telling me this?”

“Just letting you know, I suppose.” Kanaya shrugs. She turns, so that she's no longer looking at Karkat, before staring at the sky. The sun is beginning to set, and the moon is breaking over the horizon. The brightest of stars, and the brilliant red spark of the nearby planet of Apollo, are faintly visible. “You look a bit pale, Karkat. Are you feeling unwell?”

A scoff, followed by a sneeze. After gracelessly wiping his nose on his sleeve, he shakes his head. “I'm feeling absolutely peachy. I can bound easily up and down umpteen sets of stairs so mind-bogglingly high that they'd make an architect defecate themselves in pure, unadulterated fear.” He refuses to mention his occasional chills. He also makes no reference to the fact that, from time to time, his thoughts have felt distant, as if lost within a dense fog. “Is the entire district on lockdown?”

“No, not yet. They're very seriously considering the option, now, though. As I understand it, they've set up medical tents and are sending down large amounts of medical personnel.”

“And you think these so-called medical dumbasses will actually help?” In spite of his best effort, Karkat can't keep the edge off of his voice. While he's never lived anything approaching an uncomfortable life, there were periods of it when he lived in not-so-nice parts of the city. He's seen the lack of medical care that lower end neighborhoods receive, and he's keenly aware of the fact that this discrepancy likely extends to this situation, too.

Kanaya offers a confused glance.

Karkat drops the topic. “What're the gods saying? Any big news, or any fucking idea of what we're doing? Are we still running around like sugar-crazed toddlers with coffee shot straight through their veins, scrambling wildly for some semblance of a goddamned foothold?”

“That's a perfect summary of what's happening.”

“Wonderful.” Karkat plucks his cigar from his mouth and blows forth a cloud of smoke. He knows that Kanaya doesn't smoke; in fact, he often doesn't, either, but he thinks that all of this warrants a bit of a luxury. “Tell me something, Kanaya.”

“Depends on what you wish for me to say.”

“Do you actually believe any of this bullshit? Do you think that all of this endless, meandering rambling is worth anything more than the shit-soaked dirt that Strider sometimes scribbles crude images into?”

“Oh, I don't exactly trust Dave. I'm not very fond of him, in fact, but I can tolerate him. Rose, however, I believe wholeheartedly,” Kanaya says this with conviction. She _truly_ believes in the validity of what's being said, and that's obvious.

And, for Karkat, that's the final nail in the coffin. While it's been becoming increasingly obvious that this isn't a dream that he'll be waking up from any time soon, he had still been having doubts. Now, though, he's coming to terms with the situation. At the very least, he's been coming to understand that he's a necessary part in all of this. He still refuses to trust anything said by any of the so-called, self-proclaimed gods, but there's one person in this equation that he will always trust, and that's Kanaya.

“It appears that our new travel companion—” Kanaya begins.

Karkat interjects, filling in the blank, “Dirk?”

“Yes. Dirk. It appears he is approaching with dinner. He seems to have caught some dinner for us.”

A snort of laughter escapes Karkat. “Of fucking course he has. What is it tonight? More mange-infested raccoon?”

“No, not today. The shape seems to resemble a hare.” Kanaya's wry smile betrays her knowledge.

And Karkat's reaction confirms this knowledge. He finds his mouth watering, and excitement bubbles within him. “Fucking finally. Some decent meat.” He buries his hands in his pockets and trudges forward, abandoning the conversation to stake out a spot in line for dinner.

(Not that this is necessary. Kanaya and Karkat are the only people who actually eat in this group. The gods, as far as Karkat is aware, eat only when they feel like it, and always eat food that seems to be of some sort of ethereal quality.)


	15. Rivers in the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [**Rivers in the Desert**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jaIo82uT0qs) from _Persona 5_ , which I've never played, but damn if the music isn't sick as fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to keep a theme with these chapter titles of classic rock but i picked up the persona 5 soundtrack so fuck that noise

Having traveled for about two days, the group has settled down in a bed and breakfast place at the edge of the farming district's largest and only “city”. It's not much of a city, by definition, but it's the largest concentration of human life for some distance.

Four gods, all crammed in a room with two mortals. And, in the middle of this fray, stands the Strider pair. They're both busy scrutinizing a recently purchased map. Their brows are furrowed, and their collective thinking power is currently combining, though with little notable effect.

“I don't understand. The last time I saw a map, this was a peninsula,” utters Dirk. He gestures to a portion of the map that is definitely no longer a peninsula. “Clearly, we can surmise that we've been gone for some time. And, if that's the case...”

“...Then we have some pretty fuckin’ huge English-shaped problems to deal with, huh?” supplies Dave. “I'm guessing that John would be somewhere around here. But fuck if I know.”

Rose, meanwhile, takes a more methodical approach. She quietly shoos the two men away, then, summoning up an old map of hers, she lays it atop the new one. She studies the geography and carefully traces out areas where there are definite similarities. By the time she's done, there's a decent point of reference for the group. “There. I believe that should suffice as a base for our search.”

The gods once again reconvene, bickering and muttering between one another.

Nearby, Karkat can't make any sense of what's being said. This talk of another world, once before what he knows, baffles him. It's simply beyond his understanding. So, instead of trying to deal with that, he turns his attentions to Kanaya, who is busy obviously staring at Rose. “We should have four more people to find, so we're halfway done.”

Kanaya, after a momentary pause, nods. “And how would you guess that?”

Karkat pulls down his sleeve, revealing the number emblazoned on his skin. “It counts down every time we find someone. Hopefully, we'll be done with this entire parade of nonstop bullshit soon, because I want nothing more than to return to my former life of irrelevance and mundane existence. All of this steaming crap about saving the world is just pointless.”

“Well, if that's how you feel,” Kanaya shrugs.

“What, you actually like all of this? We've been wading through the entirety of the territory, barking up every goddamned tree we can find, except for the right one, and for what!?”

“According to Rose, we'll be doing humanity, as a whole, a great favor. Recent news reports indicate that the city is on the verge of declaring a national emergency. The plague has spread dramatically, and they've yet to find a cure.” From her back pocket, Kanaya produces a folded up newspaper. The date indicates that it was printed three days ago, but it's the most relevant and recent word either individual has heard from mainstream civilization. “There have been palliative measures developed, but that's as far as they have gotten.”

Karkat opens his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by none other than Dave Strider.

The apparent God of Time stands before him, looking oddly nervous. “Shit got hairy at the round table. I'm taking a walk. Come with me.”

“Uhm... No?”

“Go on, you need some social interaction with someone other than me,” urges Kanaya, her voice soft.

Dave echoes the statement, in his own way. “It wasn't a question. C'mon. Let's shoot some proverbial breeze.” He beckons with his hand, then wanders out of the shared room.

Reluctantly, Karkat follows. He trails a few steps behind the man, refusing any attempts he makes to meet his gaze, and keeping his hands buried firmly in his pockets. “What did you drag me out of the room for? Aren't all your other paranormal buddies busy talking?”

“You bet they are. They're arguing and discussing and geographing like nobody's business, but I needed a break from all that.” There's a shrug, followed by the appearance of a lit cigarette. It seems to materialize between Dave's fingers, and it never seems to diminish in size. “I dunno. You ever walk into a room, one that's just fuckin’ jam-packed with people, all of them wiggling like sardines in a can, but you just feel alone?”

Karkat pauses. He finds that the statements his uncomfortably close to home. He wants to say something, yet he can't find the right thing to say.

Dave, fortunately, saves him from awkward silence. “Nah. Never mind. That's some deep shit. Don't need to dig into my personal bullshit right now. How about you? Jade's been on my case to talk to you.”

“For what?” A light breeze blows by, and Karkat shivers.

Without missing a beat, Dave summons up a vibrant red hooded shirt. He hands it over before continuing, “She's been bugging me about sensing some bad vibes coming off of you.”

“That's just my personality, jackwad.” A sneeze.

From Dave, a snicker. “Fair enough. But, nah. I mean, she's been trying to figure out what could be causing this whole plague, and she's narrowed it down to a few things. One of them was the oil. Y'know, that slick, gooey, whale-based shit that _you_ work with?”

“Oh, so now we're blaming an inanimate commodity for a plague!?” Karkat scoffs. “I—”

Dave seems to ignore the criticism of his presented theory. Instead, he jumps straight to what seems, to Karkat, to be an entirely irrelevant topic. “Ever had any rat problems?”

“For some reason, the only thing rodents like more than humping each other is whale oil plants, so of course we've had rat problems. That's just a problem with the industry. Why does it even matter?” There's a keen awareness of just how defensive he's being, but Karkat isn't about to let some random asshole tell him that his processing plant is any less disgusting than the one next door. No, Signless Oil is the most pristine place in the business. He, just like his father, has always been a meticulous person when it comes to sanitation affairs. In fact, he's preparing to say more when he feels a sudden chill run down his spine.

“What?” asks Dave, noticing the second involuntary shiver, “You really think it's cold? It's a pretty warm day out.”

“Pardon me for regulating my body temperature. I'll just go into a fucking corner and die, I guess.”

A small half-smile graces Dave's features, but it's gone within a second or so. “No, I mean... You feeling okay? Jade's pretty sure the plague started with rats, so...”

“I'm feeling perfectly fucking dandy. Now, what's the point of all of this?” As the pair pass by a boarded up general store, Karkat shakes his head. “I mean, why should I even listen to you? To any of this!? What's stopping me from just saying, ‘Fuck absolutely everyone, and the fate of this godawful world,’ and going home?”

Dave shrugs. To Karkat's surprise, the small smile returns. “Nothing, really. You're free to just mosey on off and do whatever the fuck sort of shit you want to, dude. But, between you and me? I don't think you will.”

“And why not? You don't know me, you pompous dunkass.”

“I don't, but I get this vibe from you—and I know that sounds real hokey and all, but hear me out. You're just...” Dave waves his hands in the air, as if doing this will summon up what he needs to say. After a few seconds, he seems to give up on locating the perfect way to convey his message, and settles on spewing it out in his usual stream of consciousness way. “You act like a real fuckin’ tough guy, Karkat, but you're not. Nah, that ain't you. And I hate to go all Lalonde on you, ‘cause she sure can do a number on your brain, but being around her for thousands of years teaches you shit.”

“I don't—” Karkat begins.

Dave holds up his hand, silencing the other man. “Look, you're a good guy. Under all that shouting and cussing and talking about just letting the world die, you want to help. You're not just going to sit back and see everything go to shit, you're going to do something about it. And, fuck, maybe I'm way off the mark ‘bout all this, but just think it over.” A deep inhale, followed by a plume of cigarette smoke, concludes the commentary. “We're back, by the way, so feel free to skitter back into the corner of the room you've been hiding in, dude.”

As Dave wanders on, returning to where the group is staying, Karkat stays behind. He sits on a nearby bench and stares at the sky, considering the god's words.

He hates to admit it, but Dave is right. He won't just watch the world die. As much as he'd love to, and to just return to a normal life, he'd never be able to live with his own conscience if he did. So, it seems, he's stuck in this, and he'll be seeing it through to whatever sort of outlandish end it may have.

* * *

Later, as the sun is just barely beginning to peek over the horizon, and the fields of flowing grains in the distance begin to turn an otherworldly shade of golden orange, Dave Strider is struck by a vision. Or, perhaps, it's a memory. He sits on a sofa, beside someone who bears a strong resemblance to Karkat. This other person has grey skin, though, and orange horns are hidden in his wiry hair. There's a comfort to be felt from this thought.

Home. Upon deeper thought, Dave recognizes the feeling he is getting from the scene as being at home.

Then, as quickly as the memory began, it ends. In its place, the name of the man, Karkat, is left, as well as a feeling of emptiness. A sense of something missing.

And, for the first time in a long while, Dave takes a moment to really think about what happened all those years ago, when he and his seven colleagues had first burst through, into the flat canvas world of Earth C. Now, as he considers this memory closer, he remembers that there were others with them. Yes, a group had been with them when they went through the door, but, try as he might, he can't actually recall them being anywhere nearby when that door closed.

He considers asking Rose about it, but decides against it. For now, the primary focus must be returning the world to its neutral state. So, for now, he tucks the thought away, then thinks nothing more of it.


	16. Threnody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full title of this is actually **[Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp3BlFZWJNA)** , a classical piece by Krzysztof Penderecki. Alternately known as _8'37_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual i did literally zero beta-ing on this, so let me know if there are any wild typos.

It takes a full week to traverse the remainder of the Garden District.

The party heads north, pressing forward, aiming to reach the summit of a suggestive-looking mountain, one that, as freshly minted gods, no one in their right mind would pass up claiming as their shrine. The sparseness of the area makes for safe and steady travel, but poor enrichment value. Meals consist of little more than whatever wildlife is caught, mixed with grains, vegetables, and fruits stolen from understaffed and oversized farms. (Although, considering the season, most of them come from overgrown greenhouses.)

It's been three weeks—twenty-one days—since this entire affair began. It's the thirty-sixth day of winter, or, as formal notation of Earth C would have it, the 36th of Frost. Progress is being made, but it's frustratingly slow. While Jade and Rose are content with the pace, Dave and Dirk are not. Similarly, the humans are equally split; Kanaya is content to spend time with Rose, while Karkat is quite vocal in his disdain for every minute lost to this fiasco.

As everyone spends more time together, memories begin to emerge. Rose is the first to recognize them, but all of the gods eventually begin to recall the tumultuous events of the game's end. Twenty people went through the gate, yet only eight were remembered.

 

Dave has started keeping track of the days. On the 37th of Frost, after a night of rest, the group approaches the edge of the Garden District. By noon, they've fully entered the next region of the city, the Marble Sector. According to Karkat and Kanaya, the Marble Sector is closer to the city's central government. Its name is derived from the elaborate facades of the aristocratic elite, who both work and live in the area. Density-wise, it's closer to the urban end of the sliding scale, but it remains too suburban to truly be a city area.

Upon entering the area, however, it becomes clear that money was no obstacle for the plague. Certainly, it's nowhere near as prevalent as the Cain District. The tents in this area are more upscale, resembling hastily made shacks, and the care seems to be far above what Dave had seen previously. Still, the same signs of disease are in plain sight. Well-dressed white collar workers walk past rows of sheet-wrapped corpses, acting as if nothing is wrong. Vendors are peddling various wonderful “cures” and allegedly potent preventative treatments, ranging from hand-dyed silk face masks to small, overpriced bottles of dubious-looking substances. (By smell alone, Dave can tell that at least one of these stalls is offering plain lemongrass oil.) The sound of coughing has replaced bird calls, and the streets are eerily sparse.

“You, sir!” calls a man, his beady eyes devoid of any sort of remorse or conscience, “You're unprepared for what's ahead, good sir. Surely, you've heard the news.” He grabs Dave's wrist, dragging him towards his makeshift stall, he offers a smile as cold as the bodies lining the streets. “Try some of my elixir, guaranteed to ward off the polluted air, which causes the plague.”

“Yeah, I'd rather not,” Dave grumbles. He pulls himself free, then rushes back to the group.

“It appears the disease has grown considerably since we left,” says Kanaya. “How long do you suppose we have before the city has lost too many people to survive?”

“My best estimate would be until the end of the season,” Rose responds. As always, she doesn't sugarcoat the news.

Jade, meanwhile, reaches into her pocket. She pulls forth some old fabric, which she rips into strips as she walks. After a bit of quick crafting, she hands them to Karkat and Kanaya. “You'll probably want these. Cover your mouth and nose. That's the least we can do to prevent the spread of the disease.”

Karkat, who has been oddly quiet for the past few days, takes his with little more than a nod. Like Kanaya, he ties it in place. Then, he speaks, “I guess this is what I'm supposed to be stopping?”

“Hit the nail on the head, bro,” Dirk nods. His eyes sweep across the crowd, much like Dave's, keeping vigilant watch. “Jade, you've still got that old gun of yours, right?”

“Duh,” Jade smiles.

“Yes, it's imperative that we keep an eye on our backs. I sense that the upper crust is aware of our actions, and I can assure you that they will be doing everything in their power to block our success.” Rose holds her hand out before her. There's a shimmering white aura, which hovers above her palm, that quickly morphs into the shape of a stiletto knife. Once it's fully formed, having been summoned from her Sylladex, she ties it to her side, using some of the excess on her overcoat's pink belt. “Currently, we're unable to revive anyone, so I advise the mortals of our party to do their best to avoid any fatal encounters.”

“Oh, well that seems like an obvious statement,” counters Kanaya. After a moment of searching her own pockets, she produces a small snub-nosed pistol, which she hands to Karkat. “I'm fully aware that you already have a weapon, but it never hurts to have a backup plan.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Karkat pockets the pistol, then returns to his odd silence.

It seems to Dave as if he's the only one who notices this. Likewise, he notices that Karkat is beginning to lag behind the rest of the group. He changes his pace, slowing until he's astride with the other man. “You ain't looking too hot, there, pal,” he says.

A series of hoarse coughs is followed by a pointed glare, but the potency of the look is lessened by the dark bags beneath Karkat's eyes. “I'm perfectly fucking fine, and I don't need a goddamned babysitter.”

“You sure about that?” Dave presses the issue.

By now, Jade has also taken notice of the delay. She, too, waits, moving only after Dave and Karkat have caught up to her. “Rose and Kanaya are heading off to rent a room at the local inn. Dirk's headed off to try and find a way to hotwire us a car. So, it's just us.” A bright smile punctuates her statement, but there's a sense of concern beneath her cheerfulness. “Karkat, how're you holding up? It's been a crazy few days.”

“Exactly,” Karkat nods. He opens his mouth to say more, only to break into another coughing fit. At its conclusion, he offers a pained groan. “I think I've caught a cold. I'd assume that, as a chosen one, I'd be magically immune to bullshit like this, but I guess not.”

“That cough sounds more serious than a cold,” Jade points out.

Dave disputes the claim with vigor. “Might be allergies. Fuck if I know.” He doesn't mean to, but his words come out as more of a snap than a comment.

Both Jade and Karkat respond with puzzled looks.

And, under this scrutiny, Dave finds himself feeling more vulnerable than he has in a long while. “It's... nothing. Sorry. I just don't think we've got anything to worry about.”

“Fair enough.” Jade beckons to the group to hurry up. “I'm sure the arrangements have been made. We should probably round up everyone else.”

 

Rather than shoving everyone into a single room again, arrangements have been made to equally split the group into three rooms. The pairings have been settled by Rose, who took absolutely no suggestions. She is with Jade. Dirk is staying with Dave, and Kanaya is with Karkat. The rooms are all joined together, with locked doors separating them, but it's a more enjoyable arrangement than the last time they managed to stay somewhere.

Now, it's just a bit past 9:00. Through the window of his room, Dave can see the full moon, outlined brilliantly against a cloudless sky. The room, itself, is warm, despite the stray snowflakes drifting by. And, sitting across from Dirk, he's engaged in a very serious game of Monopoly. (Or, rather, a cobbled together facsimile of the board game, comprised of various found objects and what the pair had in their inventory.)

“Jade said that Karkat's not feeling well,” comments Dirk, moving his piece (a literal thimble, found under the floorboards) across the board (drawn onto some spare paper). “You don't think it's—?”

Again, Dave responds with far more force than is necessary. There's an unconscious need to avoid a loss that, somehow, he feels as if he's experienced before. “It's nothing. That dude's a classic tank. He probably just got some wonky shit from being out in the cold so much.”

“That's... not actually how colds work, Dave. That's absolute bullshit.” A serious look crosses Dirk's face as he looks back to the board. “Shit. I owe you.” He slides a handful of crumpled Monopoly money (a full set of which was summoned from Dirk's captchalogue) to Dave.

“Yeah, well—” Dave is interrupted by a knock on the door, which separates his room from Kanaya's.

Both the men look, first, to each other; then, to the door.

“You get it,” mutters Dirk. “He's your brocase, or whatever.”

“All I said is that he reminds me of someone.” Dave shakes his head. Just saying this seems to stir something deep within him, but he doesn't know what. He shoves these uncertainties aside, though, as he opens the door. “Hey, it's pretty damned late. Not to nag, because that's Rose's department, but shouldn't you be asleep?” Up until this point, he's been focusing on his own thoughts. Now, however, he pulls his attentions back to reality. The scene before him, and its implications, settle in.

Kanaya stands before him, hands covered in blood, and her face set in an expression that's halfway between horror and steely, compartmentalized indifference. Behind her, Karkat seems to have stumbled from bed. Blood soaks the front of his shirt and, when he coughs, more comes out.

“Jesus fucking—” Dirk mutters.

Dave, meanwhile, freezes. There's a sinking feeling, an overwhelming dread, that grabs hold of him. For a reason he doesn't quite understand, he finds a singular thought running through his head, “Not again.”

“It appears that Karkat's condition is worse than anyone expected,” Kanaya says, her voice unnervingly flat. “I don't know what any of you could do for him, but—”

She needn't say more. Dave has already rushed to the other side of the room, and is summoning both Rose and Jade.

No words are spoken.

The team of gods descend upon Karkat, and the world becomes a furious blur of action.

The silence is broken almost immediately, with everyone exchanging what they can. Rose offers her knowledge, Jade studies the medical aspects of the affliction, and Dirk begins to use whatever healing powers he has available to him. (Such abilities were granted to him after the game, in accordance with the true realization of his aspect.) All the while, Dave stands back, helpless, and feeling overwhelmingly alone.

“I... uh... Anything I can do?” he eventually asks.

The group responds with a unified murmur, “No, sorry.”

Dave offers a resigned sigh, then steps back. He looks to his left and, after making brief eye contact with Kanaya, he offers her a nervous half-smile. “It'll be fine,” he says, reassuring her as much as he can. It's a statement that he, too, needs to hear. “This is the best team on the planet, literally, to be doing this.”

It seems that Kanaya understands this. And, upon further thought, Dave is sure she knows this. Still, she responds with a small nod. “Yes. Thank you, Dave. I suppose we should leave the group to work.”

“Yeah. Sounds like a solid plan.”

Dave and Kanaya depart, shutting themselves in the room formerly occupied by Dave and Dirk. A tense silence, fueled by the recent turn of events and a drastic difference in personalities, hangs between them. The air in the room seems heavy, and that weight only drags on as time passes.

Eventually, unable to stay awake any longer, Kanaya falls asleep.

And Dave, unable to sleep, remains awake and on edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, feedback, and ideas are always welcome! :)


	17. Hoshi to Bokura To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [**Hoshi to Bokura To**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RfyLgFLXByU) is a song from _Persona 5_.

_In the back of his mind, Karkat Vantas begins to remember something. He recalls a time, mostly spent on a meteor, during which he bonded with another man, who just so happened to look remarkably like the God of Time. He remembers long conversations, often through the “night”, or whatever semblance there was of such a thing on this meteor, and soft touches in a darkened room during movies. He remembers the man's voice, both soft and rough, with what others identified as a strong southern accent; he doesn't understand what, exactly, a “southern” accent is._

“You do realize that CPR damages the average human body, right?” inquires Dirk, addressing his commentary in the direction of a certain Rose Lalonde.

Rose, in turn, scowls. “I am _very much_ aware of this fact, but this particular situation appears to call for such measures. You're the team's session-chosen healer, are you not? You can rectify any wrongs that might come about as a result of this.”

Jade nods. “Lalonde knows what she's doing!”

Pulling his hands from his pockets, Dirk lets forth a low growl. “I'm aware, I simply wanted to warn you. I'm more than a bit rusty with these powers, bros, so...”

_“Hey, Vantas,” a familiar voice calls to Karkat. When he turns, he sees a friendly smile, one of pure calm and content. “The Mayor's all finished building Can Town. He asked if we wanted to do something with him later. You ever heard of hopscotch?”_

“I'm assuming that X-Ray machines are a bit too advanced for this time period,” mutters Jade.

“I mean, I can attempt to perform a function similar to that,” answers Dirk, now messing with his glasses. “I integrated a variety of functions into my shades, as I had little else to do once the game was over. I'm sure I put an X-Ray function in somewhere.”

“We don't have time for that.” Rose shakes her head. She looks down, at the fact of the man she's working on, and knows all too well who it is. She's had time to regain her memories; as a seer, she's begun to understand just who Karkat and Kanaya are. As of now, she doesn't know all there is to know, but she knows one thing: this person is important to Dave, which, by extension, makes him important to her. “Just get over here and heal him.”

“I can't heal the asshole if I don't know what the bropblem is,” Dirk grumbles. Despite his bro-based pun, his expression remains stoic. “Do _you_ know what the problem is!?”

“I'm guessing plague. He's been ill lately, and, if it _is_ the plague, the best course of action is to keep his lungs in working order,” Jade's response is now unnervingly flat. Her expression is neutral; things are serious.

_Karkat stands before a door. Other humans are nearby, but he's also cognizant of the grey-skinned humanoids nearby. They have orange horns, all of them of varying size and complexity. In fact, when he checks, he, too, is of this grey-skinned species. A hand reaches out, lightning sparking at its fingertips as it nears the door. Then, there's a flash. The world spins, shifting wildly, and time seems to slow. He looks to his right, locking eyes with a man he now recognizes as Dave Strider._

_“Karkat!?” There's a sense of loss in the call._

_Then, there's..._

“Fucking hell,” sputters Dirk, his hands pressed firmly to the downed man's chest, “These lungs are like sponges. Oedipus would spontaneously regrow eyes and unfuck his mom before these things are anything near normal. There's not enough power in the universe for me to restore these. Jane, maybe, but not me!”

Rose shakes her head. Gods don't tire physically, but performing constant chest compressions on one man for over twenty minutes is beginning to take an emotional toll. “Just do whatever you can. It needn't be perfect, Dirk, it must simply hold together until we can ascertain Jane's location.”

“I'm working on it, dammit!” the man snaps.

Jade, meanwhile, continues working on her evaluation of Karkat's symptoms and current health. “His pulse is steady, at least. That's good news.”

_Without realizing exactly what he sees, Karkat sees into the past. He herds sheep, standing atop a windy hill, looking upon a flock of scattered wool-bearing beasts. When the weather grows warmer, he kneels beside them, carefully sheering them, then weaving their goods into fabric. At the peak of summer, he makes the long journey to the main marketplace, where he sells his wares. He does this for years, again and again, year after year, until he finally succumbs to old age._

_He is born into a family a step below nobility. His father serves the ruler of the city-state, performing the role of adviser and confidant. When his father is killed by a wild boar, he takes his place. He serves his role dutifully, alongside a suspiciously familiar man with a prominent lisp and mismatched eyes, for years. At his thirtieth birthday celebration, an informal affair, but a festive one, nonetheless, he stands alongside the other man, only to notice a man with a knife. He jumps before the blade, dying again._

_And, as suddenly as his life had ended, it began again. He comes to being in a dark alleyway, flanked by handmade clay and stone walls. His mother is single, alone, and dies when he is ten. By thirteen, he steals to survive; he feels guilty about it, but sees no other way. One day, perhaps when he is sixteen, he is caught stealing, and sent to a nearby monastery to atone for his crimes. He spends years there, learning the ins and outs of the worship of the God of Time. It is perhaps his most fulfilled lifetime, spent studying and helping others, before he meets his end at the hands of a rampaging bull._

_It goes on and on, one after the other. Life after life._

_He is born, he lives, and he dies._

_He is born, he lives, and he dies._

_He is born to a middle-class man and his wife, both inventors. His father spends most of his time out whaling, while his mother tinkers with what he recognizes as the earliest prototypes of whale oil. This time, his life ends early and abruptly, in an explosion caused by the volatile energy source._

_The next face he sees is that of his late mother. He goes through his life, again, living each moment in unnerving detail. Despite knowing what will happen, he enters a construction site's pit, and awakens the God of Time. From there, things go as he expects. He follows the man across the land, awakening one god after the other, before taking a leisurely stop at an inn. He has a cough he can't seem to shake..._

“Two months,” announces Dirk, sweat soaking his shirt. “He has two months before he dies. That's the best I can do. He's alive.”

The three gods have spent the past two hours dutifully working to save a man, who the world, at large, does not know, nor do they recognize him for much beyond being modestly wealthy. Finally, they stop. They back up, and watch the steady rise and fall of the man's chest. There's been some level of success, but no cure. No, only one person knows the cure, but...

“So, we prioritize finding Jane,” Rose says.

“That is the most logical conclusion,” counters Dirk.

Jade, meanwhile, takes it upon herself to handle the human aspect of this equation. “I'll go and let Dave and Kanaya what's happened. Good work, everyone.” She offers another of her usual smiles, though it's a bit wearier than usual. “Everyone go back to resting. It's been _a day_ , huh?” She turns, waves, and heads for the door, which separates her and the people she wishes to speak to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, comments and feedback are always welcome! :) thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you saw any typos, please let me know. :/  
> and, yes, there is one [1] character that isn't tagged for spoiler reasons. it might be obvious, but maybe not?


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